Praeceptor
by SilverSiren27
Summary: Tom Riddle is asked to be Bellatrix Black's godfather. For years, he takes his duties very seriously. Even when he travels to the Continent for a decade, he sends her letters and gifts. But when he returns home, he finds a nearly-grown witch filled with Darkness and a craving to learn the Dark Arts he's studied. What will Lord Voldemort do with the vicious, grown witch she becomes?
1. Chapter 1

_29 September 1951_

_London_

Tom Riddle stalks like a wraith, clad entirely in black with a hood pulled up to shield him from the rain. He climbs the stone stairs leading to the elegant white townhouse before him, Number 87. He stands before its door, painted shiny scarlet and glistening from the rain that cascades down in sheets. Tom raises his fist and knocks four times, firmly and evenly. He clears his throat, pulls back a little, and waits. The door swings open, and an eager-faced House-Elf stands before him, its bright violet eyes shimmering with recognition.

"Mr Riddle, sir," says Blinky, the elf who has served Cygnus and Druella Black since their marriage two years earlier. Cygnus is an old school friend of Tom's, and they've stayed closely in touch. Tom agreed to be Best Man at Cygnus' wedding, even over Cygnus' brother, and Tom often comes to the townhouse for bouts of Wizards' Chess.

Cygnus is an accounts manager for Gringotts; the goblins outsource some of their interfacing position to witches and wizards. Cygnus handles wealth management and large money transfers. It would be drudgery, perhaps, to someone less interested in gold. But Cygnus gets to put his paws on Galleons all day, every day, and Tom knows he skims off a little here and there. Cygnus is also flush with Black family money, and so his townhouse is luxe and lovely, kept clean by the elf and run smoothly by Druella.

Druella, who has given birth eight days earlier to a little girl. Bellatrix, she is to be called. Tom has a gift tucked under his left arm, something he's brought from Knockturn Alley. It wouldn't do to show up at his old friend's house without a gift for the new baby. He's waited eight days to visit because Druella needed time to rest, but Cygnus sent an owl and finally asked Tom to come. So here he is, following Blinky into the foyer of the house and pulling out his wand to Siphon the water he's tracked inside.

"Tom!" Cygnus bellows as he comes traipsing from the parlour into the foyer. He has no regard for how loud he is; he never seems to be aware that he's in a perpetual state of shouting. Tom curls his lips up and claps Cygnus on the shoulder.

"Congratulations, old friend."

He passes over the gift he's brought, a box wrapped in silver paper with black ribbons. He's enchanted it to stay dry, so it isn't damaged by the rain battering the outside world. Cygnus' face lights up, and he says demurely,

"Oh, but you shouldn't have done… how very kind of you, Tom. Thank you."

"May I see her? Little Bellatrix?" Tom asks, cocking a brow, and Cygnus nods vigorously. He gestures into the parlour and says,

"Druella's decided to bottle feed her milk. This way the elf can take care of it at night."

Tom frowns just a little. It's hardly as though it's his business what Druella does with her body, but as a former orphan raised by unrelated Muggles, he feels a strange twinge at the idea of a newborn baby being so closely attended to by a House-Elf. He gulps and asks,

"Bellatrix is cared for by her parents, surely?"

"Oh, of course. It's just that Druella likes to sleep through the night, you know," Cygnus says offhandedly. Tom's frown deepens. He thinks back to nights in Wool's Orphanage, to evenings spent trying to fall asleep as the others' beds creaked and groaned, as wards full of children mewled and cried and snored. He remembers wondering, as a little boy, what his mother had been like when she'd been alive. Would she have passed him off to a creature for feeding, or would she have held him and sung him to sleep herself? Suddenly Tom's eyes feel strange, burning with an emotion he can't pin down.

He flattens his lips into a line and follows Cygnus through the elegant blue parlour into a smaller sitting room with sunny yellow wallpaper and many windows. The rainy day outside makes it darker in here than it ought to be, but Tom can still see well enough to make out the white wicker bassinet on the ground in the centre of the room. Lying on her back in the bassinet is a baby, a perfectly formed little thing with full pouting pink lips and eyes shut peacefully in slumber.

"Tom," says Druella quietly, and she rises with some effort from the chaise lounge where she's been sitting. She folds her hands over her still-swollen belly, over which drape aubergine robes, and she smiles weakly. "Welcome."

"She's lovely," Tom says without pretense. He walks over towards the bassinet and stares down into it, marveling at the little child there. He sinks his teeth into his bottom lip as his eyes feel odd again. He blinks away the sensation and whispers rather desperately, "A perfect little child, isn't she?"

"So she is. Will you hold her, Tom?" Druella suggests, and Tom looks at her like she has three heads.

"Hold her?"

Druella's face erupts into a broad grin. She moves towards the bassinet and extracts the tiny baby from inside, confidently propping her against her shoulder. The child - Bellatrix - makes a little noise and squirms, and then suddenly Druella is passing the baby to Tom.

He has no idea what he's doing, so Druella helps him. She shows him how to cradle the baby just so in his arms, how to hold up the head she can not yet support on her own. Druella tucks a little blanket round Bellatrix's lacy white clothes and bends to kiss her daughter's forehead.

"Go on, then, Cygnus," she says. Tom stares down at Bellatrix and just marvels. He blinks once, twice, and then he feels that bizarre sensation in his eyes again. His throat goes tight and he mumbles,

"She's got dark curls already."

"Loads of hair. The Healer noted it the moment she was born," Druella says proudly. "She'll have lovely curls, I think. Do go on, Cygnus."

Tom raises his eyes curiously, frowning to his old friend, and Cygnus anxiously knits his hands together before himself. He clears his throat a bit roughly and finally asks,

"Tom, Druella and I would be honoured if… well, we were wondering… hoping…"

"Will you be her godfather?" Druella finally finishes. Tom feels his mouth fall open in shock. He looks from Druella to Cygnus and back again.

"Godfather?" he asks hoarsely. He gazes down at little Bellatrix and shakes his head. "No, I… I'm the wrong one. You need someone who will care properly for her the way a godparent ought to do."

"You are the best friend we could ever hope for," Cygnus says rather firmly. "We know you are going to do great things. We have faith in you. And all we ask is that you be a mentor to her when she gets old enough to learn a bit from you. We could all stand to learn a bit from you, Tom."

"Godfather," Tom says again, more gently this time. He shuts his eyes and breathes in the scent of powder that the infant carries with her. He cradles her just a little closer and opens his eyes. "Yes. All right."

* * *

_21 September 1953_

_London_

"Happy birthday, dear Bellatrix. Happy birthday to you."

Tom stands back and watches as Bellatrix blows out the candles on her chocolate cake. Her family claps enthusiastically. He thinks that she's probably managed to get spittle all over the frosting, but he can't bring himself to be angry with her. She's only two years old.

"Oof, I feel like a whale," Druella complains as she waves her arm to make Blinky start carving up the cake. "The sooner this baby comes, the better."

Tom thinks to himself that he's just glad Bellatrix gets to celebrate her birthday without the interference of a younger sibling. Everything will change for her now, he knows. Having a little sister, not being the centre of her parents' universe, will turn her life upside-down. He's got to be more steadfast than ever for her, he knows. She'll need him coming by just to sit in the sunroom and read books and talk about magic. She can't be raised by the elf, he knows, and if Druella gets her way, the new baby and Bellatrix will both be pushed aside as far as Druella can manage. Tom sighs and accepts his plate full of chocolate cake. He watches Bellatrix for a moment, and then she meets his gaze. Her eyes are wide and searching, dark and deep. She stares and him and blinks, and for a momentary flash he sees the witch she'll grow to become.

She'll be powerful. Somehow he knows that. He can just tell. She already changes the colour of flowers with wandless magic. She sends sparks flying when she gets angry. She is full to the brim with magic. And when Cygnus and Druella asked Tom to be her godfather, they meant for her to become his student someday.

He'll study, too, he thinks. Someday, not so very long from now, he means to conduct real studies of Dark magic. And someday, farther in the future, he will pass that knowledge on to Bellatrix. She would become strong under his tutelage. She is already powerful; he will hone and shape her.

But for now, today, she is two years old.

"Bella," he says quietly, and she smiles a little at him. He sighs and takes a bite of cake. "Happy birthday."

* * *

_20 December 1956_

_London_

"Tom. Come in out of that cold!" Druella kicks Blinky aside and holds the door open wider for Tom, who's got an armload of wrapped boxes. He huffs a breath and says,

"The gift for you and Cygnus is there on the top. The rest are for Bella."

"Oh, but you've gone overboard again, just like you did at her fifth birthday," Druella laments playfully. Tom smirks and asks,

"Where is she?"

"Playing. In the parlour." Druella extends an arm out to her right, then uses her left hand to pluck her gift from the top of Tom's stack. Tom stalks into the parlour and calls,

"I've come with presents for you, Bella."

"Tom! Tom!" Bellatrix pushes herself up to her feet and lurches forward a few steps before staggering and falling. Tom glares over his shoulder at Druella and scolds,

"You shouldn't put her in such long dresses. It's difficult for her to walk in them."

"Thank you for the advice," Druella says dryly. She raises her eyebrows and smiles a little. "Cygnus is so tied up at work. Loads of people doing last minute Christmas shopping, making big withdrawals and transfers. He shan't be home for a few hours."

"Wait to open your gift until he's back, will you?" Tom curls up his lips a little. He's procured Cygnus and Druella a floating, gently fluttering set of banners of the Houses of Black and Rosier, in miniature, with a little wooden frame. He's had the gift made especially for them. It's the last thing he'll give them before he leaves, so he wants it to be special.

"Bella," he says softly, setting down his boxes and descending to his knees, "I have to go soon."

"Can't stay long today?" Druella asks from behind him. Tom studies the way five-year-old Bellatrix is tearing into one of the boxes he's brought her, and he sighs. He turns over his shoulder and says very deliberately to Druella,

"I'm leaving."

Druella looks surprised, but she just shakes her head and asks, "To where? For how long?"

Tom purses his lips. "I'm not sure."

"Ooh!" Bellatrix exclaims, for she's managed to open a box and pull out a beautiful porcelain doll with dark ringlets just like hers. The brown-eyed doll's face, enchanted with playful magic, smiles back at Bellatrix and lets out a lovely little giggle. Bellatrix hugs the doll close and then flings herself into Tom's body. He laughs a little and rubs at her shoulder, murmuring,

"Glad you like it, Bella. Open the next one."

"Thank you," Bellatrix says politely. She sets the doll down and rips frantically at the wrapping paper on the next gift.

"Tom?" Druella sounds anxious all of a sudden. Tom turns towards her again, and Druella frowns deeply. "Where are you going?"

He blinks. "I am going to study."

"Alone?" Druella asks worriedly. Tom nods.

"Alone."

"But you'll come back?" Druella twines her fingers together, pushing and pulling her hands.

"Yes," Tom says, clearing his throat. "I'll be back. Oh, Bellatrix. You've found your paints. Your mummy's going to murder me."

"Ah-ah! No painting in the house. Out in the garden _only!_" Druella exclaims. Tom chokes out a laugh and reminds Druella,

"It's December. You're going to make her paint outside? Surely you know how to Siphon and Scour, Druella Rosier Black?"

Druella shakes her head and rolls her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest. Bellatrix rips into the last gift, and this one seems far less intriguing to her. It's a book - an illuminated manuscript, a very expensive book, but of course five-year-olds are less interested in books than they are in dolls and paints. Tom drags Bellatrix near until she's plopped on the ground beside him, and he informs her,

"This is a very special copy of _The Tales of Beedle the Bard._ They are very important stories for a young witch to know. And, look, I've written a note for you inside the front cover. I shall read it for you. _For Bellatrix, who shall grow to be the heroine of her own story. From your godfather, Lord Voldemort._"

"I thought that was just a name you played about with," Druella says in a breathy voice from behind Tom. He sniffs and stares down at Bellatrix as he says quietly,

"It is my name. How I wish for her to know me in my absence."

"But she won't know you, because you won't be here," Druella says, and when Tom turns his face again, Druella's eyes have welled thickly with tears. "She'll feel like you're abandoning her. She's grown to love you like a… like a…"

"I _am_ her godfather." Tom smirks and then turns back to Bellatrix. He tucks her hair behind her little ear and says gently, "I'll be back soon enough. I'll send her gifts every birthday and every Christmas. No matter where I am. Letters. You must promise to read her my letters. Let her read them once she can."

"I promise," Druella says, and Tom pulls Bellatrix towards him. She instinctively wraps her arms around his shoulders and tucks her face into the crook of his neck, and Tom takes a long, slow breath. His eyes burn again. They always burn around Bellatrix and never around anyone else. She makes him feel…

_Human. _So very human.

"Read her my letters, Druella," Tom says, still holding Bellatrix.

"I promise," Druella says again. Tom releases Bellatrix, handing her the thick leather book and watching her set it right back down. He heaves himself to his feet and nods at Druella, heading for the foyer.

"Happy Christmas."

"Tom," Druella says, chasing after him. He whirls around, knowing she's going to try to convince him not to leave. But instead she just takes his elbow in her hand and says softly, "Be safe."

He nods tightly, crisply, and glances back to where Bellatrix is standing and staring right at him.

"Goodbye, Bella," he says, and she raises a hand to wave to him.

"Goodbye," she says, and he Disapparates without another word.

* * *

_21 September 1959_

_Split, Croatia_

_Happy birthday, Bellatrix. Today you are eight years old. Your dark curls have undoubtedly grown much longer since we last saw one another. I suppose you must be speaking much more articulately now, too, and running about like mad, climbing trees. What a grand big girl you're becoming without me._

_I have enclosed, as your birthday gift, a carved wooden Mandrake. You can annoy your mummy by making screaming sounds with it when you pretend to pull it out from between two pillows. Or you can pretend to Petrify your little sisters and then bring them back with Mandrake Root. You may use it however you like. I found it here in Croatia._

_The things I am learning here, I shall teach you someday. You have that as my promise, Bella._

_The happiest of birthdays to you._

_Your godfather, Lord Voldemort_

* * *

_22 December 1962_

_Toledo, Spain_

_Happy Christmas, Bellatrix. You are at Hogwarts now. I have a sneaking suspicion that you have been Sorted into Slytherin, and the thought of you in that Common Room makes me swell with pride and happiness. Do me a favour, will you? Tell the Giant Squid I said hello._

_Bella, the things I am learning here are Dark indeed, but soon you will be ready to learn them, too. Blood magic and Curses… I will teach you all of it. I promise. I hope you are well. I wish you nothing but happiness. _

_Enclosed is a Spanish hair comb. It is a simple gift. Young children like little toys and games, but you are not so little anymore._

_Your godfather, Lord Voldemort_

* * *

_21 September 1964_

_Vienna, Austria_

_Happy birthday, Bella. Today you are thirteen, and not really a little girl at all anymore. I admit I had great difficulty parsing out what sort of gift to send you. It has been such a very long time since you and I saw one another, and you were a very small girl when I saw you. But I do not think a thirteen-year-old wants the cup-and-ball toy I saw at the market today. So I bought you a strand of pearls fished from the South Sea by Merpeople. They are of the finest sort one can buy in Vienna. You are spoilt by your parents with fine things, I know. It is probably very difficult to impress you. Your godfather has tried, at least._

_I wonder how school is going for you. I hope you are well. Wishing you all health and contentedness._

_Your godfather, Lord Voldemort_

* * *

_21 December 1966_

_Calais, France_

_Happy Christmas, Bellatrix. I am coming home soon. I should like to deliver your Christmas gift in person when I see you next. I hope you are amenable to that idea. I shall see you soon. You will not recognise me, and not just because it has been ten years since last you saw me. _

_I am a changed man. Darkness flows through my veins and has scarred my face and body. Be warned, Bella, that I am an ugly sight to behold. But know that your godfather cares deeply for your welfare, and has through these years of estrangement._

_Until we meet again, Lord Voldemort_

* * *

_1 January 1967_

_London_

Lord Voldemort stands outside the townhouse he used to frequent. He blinks a few times, screws his eyes shut, and raises his fist. He pounds four times, evenly spaced, and then takes a little step back.

"I'll get it, Blinky!" calls a voice from inside the house. "Get Cissy's hair ready!"

Suddenly the door is flung open, and Voldemort's lips part in shock. Before him stands a teenaged girl, her wild, black springy hair exploding out from her head as though her hairstyle has erupted violently from her skull. Her lips are full and dark, her eyes heavy and deep-set. She's pretty, and she's very familiar, and suddenly Voldemort's stomach clenches almost painfully. His eyes burn in a way they haven't done for a decade, and his throat is abruptly so tight he can't breathe, much less speak.

"Bella," he says at long last. She claps a hand to her mouth, and tears immediately boil over her dark eyes. They stream down her cheeks at once, and she shakes her head in disbelief.

"It's you," she finally says, tearing her hand away from her mouth. "It's really you."

He holds out a little box wrapped in shiny black paper and says quietly, "Your Christmas gift. Happy New Year."

"Sir." Bellatrix gestures for him to enter the house, and Voldemort cautiously steps into the foyer. He breathes deeply; it's oddly familiar and strangely foreign to be here again. He glances into the parlour; nothing has changed since the days he spent in there playing with little, toddling Bellatrix. He looks to the room beyond where he used to read her stories until she fell asleep on his shoulder. He shuts his eyes, suddenly remembering the feel of her cradled in his arms, and he whispers,

"You can open that later."

"It's just… we're going to a party. My sisters and… Lucius Malfoy is having a party at Malfoy Manor," Bellatrix says apologetically. Voldemort purses his lips and is suddenly very aware of the horrid scarring all around his face, the way his hair looks like it's been torn away by a terrible creature's claws. He is suddenly very self-conscious of his waxy skin, his pale complexion, his bloodshot eyes and his marled lips. He clears his throat roughly and says,

"I won't linger. I just wanted to deliver your gift before you leave again for school."

"But there's so much I want to say to you," Bellatrix says, and when he meets her face again, she's still crying. "So much I need to hear you say."

He opens his mouth to speak, but suddenly Druella and Cygnus Black have appeared in the entryway to the foyer, both of them ogling as though they're staring at a ghost. Druella speaks first. She looks older, and her voice carries more gravel when she talks.

"Tom."

"It is Lord Voldemort now," he reminds her, and Cygnus bows his head.

"Sir. We didn't… didn't think you were coming back."

"I am returned," Voldemort says, tipping his chin up, "and I am stronger than ever."

"Please, Mum. Daddy. Don't make me go to the stupid party," Bellatrix moans. "I need to speak with him. I need to talk with him about -"

"She's been very anxious ever since she got your last letter," Cygnus cut in. "Convinced you were coming to see her quite soon."

"Well, she was right," Voldemort says. He smiles a little at Bellatrix and asks softly, "What do you know about Necromancy?"

Half her mouth quirks up. "Not enough… sir."

Druella shifts on her feet, uneasy. Cygnus hisses at her,

"This is why we asked him to be her godfather, Druella."

"I know," Druella replies. Voldemort holds Bellatrix's dark gaze and asks,

"Are you going to the party?"

"I'd much rather speak with you about Necromancy, sir," Bellatrix smiles, and Voldemort nods.

"Right. And perhaps, over some tea, you might tell me just what you've been up to these past ten years. We've loads of catching up to do, you and I."


	2. Chapter 2

_1 January 1967_

_London_

He's a stranger, but somehow she knows him. As they take seats opposite one another in the library, Bellatrix is well aware that she's in party attire and he's come plainly dressed. He is old, and she is young. He is a wizard, and she is a witch. They are opposites, the two of them, and yet she feels bound to him by some invisible thread.

"What shall I call you?" she asks simply, crossing her ankles as her mother has taught her to do. She tugs at the neckline of her black velvet gown; does it fall too low? Does she seem a harlot? His face is scarred and broken, she thinks suddenly as he studies her. He examines her features and she gazes right back, straight into bloodshot eyes and at a smashed cheekbone, at the mouth that's pulled on one side. She drags her eyes up his waxy white flesh and meets his stare again, and she whispers, "You are my godfather, and they tell me you were Tom Riddle before you left. But then you became Lord Voldemort."

"How would one address a Lord?" Voldemort tips his head and quirks up a little smile. Bellatrix is yanked back abruptly to a memory - playing with a toy Bowtruckle as he smiled down at her. She had been little then, she thinks. She was little once, and he had been her companion then. Her guardian of sorts.

"One would say _My Lord,_" Bellatrix replies, and Voldemort holds up his hands as though resigned. He nods.

"_My Lord_ it is, then."

"Does anyone else call you that?" Bellatrix narrows her eyes and smirks a bit playfully. Voldemort tents his fingers together and purses his lips.

"Perhaps my goddaughter will set a good example."

She reaches up to her neck and touches at the strand of South Sea pearls there. He'd sent them to her from Vienna for her thirteenth birthday. She brushes her fingertips over the pearls and promises her godfather,

"I will set a good example, My Lord."

He stares at the necklace. He blinks. Then his dark eyes return to hers and he asks,

"What on Earth have you been up to for the last ten years of your life, Bella?"

"I get into loads of trouble." She can't hide her smile now. She makes no attempt to do so. Voldemort's brows go up, seemingly intrigued, and his head falls to the side a little.

"No. Trouble. You?" He drums his fingers on the arm of the chair where he's sitting. "You, the toddler who nearly strangled me with my own tie because I wouldn't let you muss my hair? You, the four-year-old who picked all the roses in your mother's garden just to pick them, then stomped on the great pile of them before you -"

"Yes, me." Bellatrix giggles softly. "Troublesome little me. Getting into more trouble all the time. Can't count the number of detentions I've earned at school."

"And you are in your… fifth year?" Voldemort guesses. Bellatrix shakes her head.

"Fourth year. Slytherin."

"Do you play Quidditch?" Voldemort asks. Bellatrix scoffs.

"Never been very good with rules, I'm afraid."

"What is your best subject?" Voldemort inquires. He seems genuinely interested in Bellatrix's life as he gazes at her, and she answers,

"I do particularly well in Defence Against the Dark Arts, rather funnily."

"Perhaps that is because you have a predilection for Darkness." His eye twitches a little, and his marled lip curls up. Bellatrix grins and stares at the hands she has folded in her lap.

"Perhaps. My Lord."

"Necromancy," he says softly, and when she looks up, she finds herself breathless. She's lost in him, she realises. All of his letters… they've all led to this moment of finally seeing him. All the gifts, all the notes he's sent over the years… he's been a phantom on the Continent, the godfather who left her and went away to study in the shadows. But now he is returned, and he is staring at her quite intently as he murmurs,

"Not all death is permanent. And not everybody dies. You wonder why my face looks like this. Why my hair has been torn away."

"I didn't…" Bellatrix pinches her lips. She shakes her head and insists, "I do not find you ugly."

"That is not what concerns me," Voldemort scoffs. He touches at the cheek that looks like someone's smashed it in with a rock, and he says, "The Darkest magic leaves the gravest wounds. Someday I shall tell you what I've done."

"You will?" Bellatrix asks breathlessly. "I want you to tell me everything. I want you to teach me. Make your acolyte."

"My acolyte," he repeats. Then his face steels and he blinks a few times before he says quietly, "Necromancy. What do you know about Inferi?"

"Inferi. I know that they are reanimated corpses," Bellatrix mumbles. She stares back at her hands. "That's all I know. I read it fleetingly in a book; I don't… I don't know much."

"Then I shall teach you," Voldemort tells her. She flicks her eyes up to his, and he nods.

"Inferi are created by aiming the wand at a corpse and incanting a long series of spells. _Vivifica Corpus. Rego Corpus. Auditme Corpus. Mando Corpus. Corpus vivificatus meus est._"

"I shall have to memorise those spells," Bellatrix whispers, her lips feeling dry. Voldemort curls up half his mouth and nods.

"What destroys an Inferius?"

"I don't know, My Lord," Bellatrix admits. Voldemort shifts in his chair and studies a fingernail.

"Fire," he says softly. "_Inferius, per flammae destruit est._"

Bellatrix is silent. Her heart thuds inside her ribcage, hammering a war tattoo as her breath accelerates in her lungs. She stares at Voldemort's face as he finally looks up at her.

"You are not frightened," he notes, and Bellatrix shakes her head.

"Should I be?"

He smiles a little, and the smile reaches his dark eyes. He shuts them for a moment, his lips curling further up.

"Your parents did me quite the favour," he says, "asking me to tutor you. Asking me to be your godfather. How was I to know you'd grow into such Darkness? You were always a wicked little creature when you were a child, but I didn't know… how was I to know you would become… is Narcissa like you? Andromeda?"

"No." Bellatrix scoffs. "Andy's got Mudblood friends. She tries to deny it to our parents, but I know the truth. She's a Blood Traitor. And Cissy's soft. She just wants to grow up and get married and have babies. She's like a little fairy, darling bit that she is. No. They're nothing like me. I'm the one making trouble. I'm the one who learns all the Hexes and Jinxes in school, who focuses hardest on making poisons in Potions lessons. I'm the one who pays attention in History of Magic when we are learning about Dark witches and wizards. I'm… different, I suppose."

Voldemort opens his eyes and goes a bit serious. He shakes his head slowly, his throat visibly bobbing beneath his black brocade robes.

"Don't change," he says. "Whatever you do, do not change one bit. Don't let them change you. Don't let the world change you. You are wonderfully Dark, Bellatrix. And I shall make you ever Darker."

"Will you?" Bellatrix digs her teeth into her bottom lip and feels her stomach flutter. Suddenly she feels something powerful towards him, a magnetism that settles in the bottom of her belly. "You know, you made Andy and Cissy so very jealous all these years. Sending me gifts and letters. Their own godparents scarcely remember they exist. Our parents' high society friends, you know, with children of their own. But me? I had a godfather on the Continent. Lord Voldemort, gone away to study Dark magic. And he sent me toys and pearls and hair combs and letters… I kept… I kept every letter."

He seems surprised to hear that, and his bloodshot eyes appear to dampen a little bit. He licks his lips and asks,

"When my letters came by owl, once you learnt to read, did you open them yourself with some measure of happiness?"

She grins. "I quickly learnt to recognise your writing on the outside. My name in your hand. _Bellatrix._ One word, but in your handwriting, it always made me smile. You wrote often. I tried to write back when I thought the owl would find you. Did you ever get my letters back?"

"I…" Voldemort lowers his eyes and chews hard on his lip. "I did. I didn't want it to become a constant exchange, you understand. I was busy studying, and you were busy growing up. I wrote every few months. I kept your letters, too. Even the ones written in an eight-year-old's messy scrawl. Perhaps especially those ones. They are relics now; you are very nearly grown and that little girl is gone. I missed seeing her. I wish your mother and father would have seen fit to send me… photographs or…"

He seems sorrowful all of a sudden, and Bellatrix's lips fall open. She flies to her feet and rushes across the library, dashing over to a bookshelf and dragging her fingers over the spines of leather tomes. She finally sees one with gold embossing reading _Family of Cygnus Black III: 1955-1965._ Bellatrix yanks the heavy book out and hauls it over to Voldemort, handing it over to him and smiling a little.

"Here," she says breathlessly. "Photographs."

He stares at her for a moment, then stares at the book, and then he takes it with trembling hands. He lowers the book to his lap as Bellatrix stands beside his chair and peers over his shoulder to watch him open the book. He's in a few of the first photographs pasted to the pages; Bellatrix's fourth birthday party and Narcissa's naming day. But then, in the photographs from the next year onward, Tom Riddle disappears, having absconded to the Continent. Voldemort turns a page and sees the three girls posing by an apple tree in the summer of 1957. He pauses and dusts his fingers over the photograph, and she hears his rickety breath as he whispers,

"I remember when you were small. I held you when you were just a few days old. You smelled of powder. You slept in my arms."

Bellatrix says nothing. She barely remembers him - ghosts of him haunt her earliest memories. But he looked different then, and he had a different name. Then there were his gifts and letters, for years and years. She watches him flip through the book, observing the photographs in chronological order as Bellatrix and her sisters grew older. Finally he reaches 1965, and by then Bellatrix is fourteen years old in the book. He stares at the picture on the last page, the three sisters before a grand Christmas tree, and then he flicks his eyes up to Bellatrix and shuts the book.

"You grew up without me," he says softly, wandlessly Banishing the book back to the shelf. Bellatrix is impressed by his wandless magic, but before she can say anything, he clears his throat and slowly rises. He towers over her and nods down at her. "Open your gift now, will you?"

Bellatrix jolts, remembering suddenly that he's come here today with a belated Christmas gift for her. She moves back to the chair where she'd been sitting and picks up the small box he's brought to the house. She unwraps it carefully, and the paper is Vanished out of her hand. She stares at him, realising he's performed more incredible wandless magic, and he smirks. She opens the small box, and inside she finds a pair of gold and onyx earrings. The stones are teardrops, elegant and smooth. She marvels at the earrings for a long moment, and then she hears Voldemort say,

"Something for school. Less formal than the pearls. I didn't misstep, I hope."

Bellatrix's eyes well. She shakes her head. "No. They're perfect, My Lord."

"Good." He sniffs lightly as she makes a move to put the earrings into her ears. She touches at them, realising she's wearing his pearls and his earrings now, and she turns back towards him and asks,

"How do I look?"

He seems almost sad as he tells her,

"Just a bit too grown up. I ought to go. I will teach you more. I promise."

"Swear it." Bellatrix isn't asking. He raises his eyebrows but then smiles a little and nods.

"I swear."

* * *

_21 September 1967_

_Happy birthday, Bellatrix. You are sixteen years old today. Can it be nine months already since I came back from the Continent? And you learnt so much over the summer - tales of trolls and vampires, of Cursed objects, of poisons. You listened to me ramble about Occlumency, which I do promise to teach you very soon. Only one more year until you can do magic properly outside school, and then…_

_Well, then the fun begins, Bella._

_You mentioned over the summer that you were rather sad not to have a Familiar at school. So know that the owl delivering this letter is yours now. I think he is rather stately. He is called Jupiter. Happy birthday._

_Your godfather, Lord Voldemort_

* * *

_21 December 1967_

_Avery Hall_

"Bellatrix. You're not of age! I'm going to tell Mummy that you're drinking so much wine!" Andromeda whirls on her foot, and Bellatrix reaches out to grab her sister's elbow.

"Come on, Andy," she groans. "I'm just having a bit of fun. This party is so dull."

"It's only dull because you're letting it be dull. Why don't you dance?" Andromeda demands. "Here. Put down the wine and I'll help you. Dolph!"

Rodolphus Lestrange, a tall, gangly boy with freckled skin and strawberry blond hair, sidles up alongside Andromeda and gives Bellatrix a quick assessment. He seems to surmise that she's a little tipsy, and he smirks a bit.

"Hullo, Bellatrix," he says. Andromeda shoves her elder sister towards Rodolphus and insists,

"Dance with her, Dolph. She needs dancing."

Bellatrix huffs. "I don't -"

"It would be an honour, Miss Black." Rodolphus bows his head and gently leads Bellatrix towards the dance floor. She sighs heavily and lets him pull her into a rather tight dancing stance as the pianist in the corner strikes up a waltz. She struggles to follow his movements, but Rodolphus is a surprisingly adept dancer. He's a Pureblood. This is his world. He's been raised to cavort with witches. This is what he knows, Bellatrix thinks as she lets herself be dragged about the dance floor.

"Had some wine, have you?" Rodolphus asks bluntly, and Bellatrix answers in a terse voice,

"Just a little. Not too much."

"I had some, too. But I'm allowed, because I'm seventeen," Rodolphus brags, looking quite smug. Bellatrix scowls.

"Congratulations?"

"Soon enough you'll be seventeen," Rodolphus says softly, and Bellatrix recoils a little, feeling his hand tighten at her back. What does he mean by that, she wonders? Her head swims a little. She's had more wine than she initially thought she'd had, perhaps. She seethes out a breath between her teeth and finishes her waltz with Rodolphus in silence. Finally the dance ends, and she curtsies. Her black silk skirts billow about her, and her dark curls cascade over one shoulder. She's wearing her black onyx earrings, revealed by the way she's pulled aside her hair. Her high-necked gown doesn't allow for a necklace, but she suddenly finds herself wishing she owned something to match the earrings Voldemort gifted her the year before.

She wants him, suddenly, to be here with her. He doesn't like parties, he's told her. Not even parties held by his old school friends. So she doesn't expect him here tonight. But then suddenly, a throat is clearing and a low voice is saying softly,

"Miss Black, may I have the next dance?"

Bellatrix rises from her curtsy and marvels to see Lord Voldemort standing before her in elegant black dress robes. He's in silk and linen with a bow tie, and she's breathless for a moment. Beside Rodolphus, who is young and handsome, Voldemort ought to look hideous. But she's never found him hideous, and so she just stares before his eyebrows go up and he clears his throat a little again.

"Thank you for the dance, Bellatrix," says Rodolphus a little awkwardly. Bellatrix snaps to rights and waves a little with a black-gloved hand at Rodolphus. She draws up towards Lord Voldemort and stares up at his face, feeling his right hand come to rest on her waist. She flinches a little; he's _touching_ her, and she doesn't quite know what to do about that. Then he takes her right hand in his left one as the music starts, and they begin to sway.

"You've been drinking," he admonishes her instantly. Bellatrix gulps. She shakes her head in denial, but Voldemort narrows his eyes and whispers,

"I smell wine on you, silly girl. And I see it in your head. You can't hide it from me, so don't try."

"I'm sorry. My Lord." Bellatrix licks her red-painted bottom lip and moves with him. "I'm all right; I'm not so very drunk."

"No. You're not so very drunk," he acknowledges, "but you'll not be having any more. Understood?"

"Yes, Master." Bellatrix nods, then freezes. Voldemort's dark eyes flash, and his feet falter for a moment before he catches the beat again and hisses,

"What did you say?"

"I'm-I'm sorry," Bellatrix stammers. "It just sort of… came out. If I hadn't had wine, I wouldn't have -"

"You called me _Master_," Voldemort says through his teeth, and Bellatrix nods.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be." His eyes flick up and down her form. His throat bobs, and he wrenches his eyes shut as he says softly, "Things change, don't they? Everything changes, doesn't it?"

"In what way?" Bellatrix continues to dance with him even as one song ends and another begins. He opens his eyes and mumbles somewhat helplessly,

"I cradled you in my arms. I gave you dolls to play with. I kept all your letters. It was… things were different then. You're wearing your onyx earrings. You are… it is…"

His face goes scarlet suddenly, and his eyes squeeze very tightly shut. He abruptly rips himself away from Bellatrix as though she is stinging him just by making contact, and she gasps a little. He stalks away from her without another word, and she's left standing alone on the dance floor as he hustles out of the ballroom and disappears into the corridor.

* * *

_2 January 1968_

_London_

Bellatrix coughs a little and then finally gathers the courage to raise her fist and knock on the door to his flat. She visits him for lessons in the Dark Arts, but only after a direct invitation.

Today, she has not been invited.

The door opens after a long while, and Bellatrix is somewhat surprised to see Lord Voldemort standing before her in a white shirt with the sleeves rolled to the elbows, the top few buttons undone, shirt untucked from his trousers. He sighs and shakes his head and demands,

"When do you go back to school?"

"Tomorrow," Bellatrix whispers. "I haven't heard from you for the entire holiday. Do you so hate me now?"

He shuts his eyes and leans on his door a little. "You tried to strangle me with my tie because I wouldn't let you muss my hair."

"You always tell me that story," Bellatrix nods. "What does it mean?"

"It means that you were little once." Voldemort stands up straighter and opens his eyes. "You're not so little anymore."

"Does it trouble you?" Suddenly Bellatrix thinks she knows what is going on. Her sixteen-year-old body is confusing to the wizard who's spent school holidays teaching her Dark magic, the man who was named her godfather. She thrusts her chest out and demands, "Is it difficult? Knowing that your goddaughter has breasts and a -"

"_Stop_," Voldemort hisses angrily, but Bellatrix barrels on,

"Is it difficult to know that your goddaughter wants nothing more in all the world than to hear you talk for hours and hours about Dark magic? Is it difficult to know that your hands on me when we were dancing felt like -"

"I said _stop!_" Suddenly Voldemort has snatched Bellatrix's wrist and is yanking her into the flat. He slams the door shut and shoves Bellatrix up against it, pressing at her shoulders and lowering his face towards hers. "Just because you've grown up does not give you the right to speak to me like I'm some sort of… of…"

"Man?" Bellatrix whispers, and Voldemort's face goes as red as it had at the Christmas party. He shakes his head and murmurs,

"Go back to school, little girl."

"Yes. Look at me like a little girl. It'll help, won't it?" Bellatrix teases. "It'll help you not to see me as the -"

"_Silencio!_" Voldemort's fingers have clasped around Bellatrix's throat before she knows what's happening, and his Silencing spell quickly takes hold. She gasps and sputters against his choke hold, and he quickly releases her. But she's still Silenced, even as she slumps a little against the door.

"Did you walk here?" Voldemort is staring away, his face very red as Bellatrix nods. He sighs and tells her,

"Come with me. I'll take you home by Side-Along. I don't want you walking back in the dark. _Finite Incantatem._"


	3. Chapter 3

_13 February 1968_

_My Lord, _

_You and I parted company on poor terms. You Silenced me and took me back to my parents' doorstep and deposited me there, and I've not heard from you since. I must know what I have done to earn such scorn from my godfather. Please tell me what I have done to anger you so terribly._

_Your goddaughter, Bellatrix_

* * *

_17 February 1968_

_Bella,_

_You grew up. That is all you did. Surely you can see why it is difficult for a wizard to see the small child he sent gifts and letters throughout her childhood turn into a Dark-minded witch who is very nearly an adult. Surely you can see why it is difficult for a wizard to discover that the baby he held in his arms has become a witch not related by blood but bound by shared interests. Surely you can see why it is difficult for me to see what you have become._

_I shall see you at Easter._

_Your godfather, Lord Voldemort_

* * *

_7 April 1968_

_Bella,_

_Your father mentioned that you are not coming home for Easter. I suppose I shall see you in the summertime, then. I trust you are doing well in your studies. Your father says that you earn top marks and that you're dating Rodolphus Lestrange. I hope the boy makes your days glad. I hope you are happy._

_Lord Voldemort_

* * *

_14 April 1968_

_Happy Easter, My Lord._

_Rodolphus makes me happy enough, I suppose. I'm meant to find a husband to marry after leaving Hogwarts. I am seeing whether Rodolphus will be a good option for me. He is not dull. He is very interested in the Dark Arts, like I am. He says it is a good thing for me to study Dark magic and grow ever Darker. He will be a fine husband someday, I think._

_Bellatrix_

* * *

_2 June 1968_

_My Lord,_

_You never responded to my letter at Easter. You did not answer my letter at the end of April, nor my letter in mid-May. I wonder if I shall ever speak with you again. I will be home soon from school. May I visit you when I come back? Please say yes._

_Bellatrix_

* * *

_4 June 1968_

_Bellatrix,_

_Yes._

_Lord Voldemort_

* * *

_9 June 1968_

_London_

Voldemort blinks at the sound of knocking on his flat door. He clears his throat and rises from the armchair where he's sitting and reading the _Daily Prophet. _He stalks quickly to the door and flings it open, unsurprised to see Bellatrix standing in the corridor outside. He just moves aside so she can come in, and she does. He's wearing a simple black robe over a white dress shirt, and she's still in her school uniform. She's clearly come here straight away after getting home from the train. She hasn't even changed clothes.

"Welcome home," Voldemort says quietly. Bellatrix stares at him, her wide, dark eyes shimmering. She licks her full lips and mumbles,

"I've come to learn. My Lord."

"So eager," he scoffs. He shoves his hands into the pockets of the trousers beneath his robe and whispers, "Always so eager. How's Rodolphus?"

"Oh. Dolph. Erm… he and I didn't… we broke up." Bellatrix sounds abashed, and when Voldemort raises his eyes to her, he frowns. Her face has gone pink, and she gnaws her bottom lip as she mumbles helplessly, "He thought Antonia Malfoy was very pretty, you see, and the two of them… erm…"

"He _cheated _on you?" splutters Voldemort, unsure of why his reaction is so violent. Bellatrix shrugs and waves her hand.

"I Stunned him as an act of revenge and managed not to get caught. It's no skin off my bsck; I didn't -"

"He _cheated_ on you," Voldemort says again, and Bellatrix adjusts her Hogwarts robe around her shoulders as she tips her chin up and says bravely,

"I refuse to be a victim. We broke up, he and I. Well. I broke up with him, really."

"Well. I do not wish for your unhappiness in any way, though I confess I am… erm… not displeased that the boy…" Voldemort feels his cheeks go hot, and he coughs into a fist. He stares at Bellatrix and says quietly, "You want to learn. I have much to teach you. You're almost of age. Soon enough we'll be doing practical education, not just theoretical study."

"Really?" Her face lights up. "We'll brew potions together? You'll teach me to use Hexes and Jinxes in practise? Show me how to Curse objects? All of it?"

"All of it," Voldemort sighs, pinching his lips. He says firmly, "First you must complete book study of all this. Your summer will be spent under my tutelage. Understood?"

"Understood." Bellatrix's eyes warm, and Voldemort drags his teeth over his lip.

"Good girl. Go home. Spend some time with your parents. Our studies begin tomorrow morning."

He watches her leave, and his stomach twists as the door shuts behind her. He brushes his knuckles over the door once she's gone, and he touches his forehead to the wood. He lets out a long, low breath and wrenches his eyes shut. He tries to think of her as his goddaughter, but when he does that, he remembers why he was named her godfather in the first place. Cygnus Black III and Druella Black wanted him to teach their daughter the Dark Arts. They wanted him to train her.

He tries to think of her as a child. He tries to think of her as the five-year-old he left behind when Tom Riddle went to the Continent. But that five-year-old is long gone. Now she's a sixteen-year-old who's been cheated on by her young boyfriend. Now she's a rising sixth-year student with the body of a witch.

But he will teach her, he thinks, and no more. He is her godfather, and he has been entrusted with training her in the Dark Arts. That is exactly what he means to do.

* * *

_21 July 1968_

_London_

"I couldn't eat another bite if you paid me." Bellatrix sets down her spoon in the Leaky Cauldron, and Voldemort smirks at her as he plunks down two Galleons on the table. They're for the serving wench, but Bellatrix still smirks.

"Tell me again," he demands, "what the ingredients are for a Vein Freezing Poison."

"Seahorse eggs, ginger root, chizpurfle fang ground fine, cinnamon, pus from a human wound, and 200 millilitres of Standard Potioning Water. Add the ingredients and stir twenty times anti-clockwise, wait twenty minutes, then stir twenty times clockwise. Stew for six hours and administer as soon as possible for maximum efficacy." Bellatrix looks smug as she stares across the table at Voldemort. He nods and sighs.

"You're learning so much," he tells her, almost gently. "How does one cast a Shrieking Curse upon jewellery?"

"Tap the wand seventeen times, and beginning on the fourteenth tap, incant _Clamoribus._" Bellatrix seems proud of herself. Well, he feels proud, too, he thinks to himself. He is happy that she's learnt so much in so short a period of time. He narrows his eyes at her and keeps quizzing.

"Who wrote _A Necromancer's Guide to Death?_"

"Hadriana Cassia Domitia," Bellatrix answers at once. She seems to be daring Voldemort to keep throwing questions at her, but he just sips his firewhisky and nods.

"You are learning," he confirms. "You are learning well."

"I saw Rodolphus two days ago," Bellatrix says suddenly, and Voldemort freezes with his tumbler of firewhisky in his hand. He slowly sets it down and shrugs. What does he care of teenaged romance? Bellatrix huffs a breath and tells Voldemort, "I saw him with Antonia Malfoy in Knockturn Alley. I was shopping with my mother. I said hello. Antonia smirked in such a way that… well…"

Her eyes go a bit wet, and suddenly Voldemort is glaring at her and whispering, "_Legilimens._"

He needs the truth, for some reason. He needs to know what she really thinks of this boy. Her mind spills forth memories of kissing Rodolphus, of the two of them feverishly grasping at one another's clothing. Voldemort quickly pulls away from those memories and sees Rodolphus giving Bellatrix flowers, sees him murmuring to Bellatrix that she's intelligent and pretty. And then he sees Bellatrix hurling a Stunning Spell at Rodolphus after his betrayal was uncovered, her agony ripping through her body as she cast the spell. He'd hurt her, Voldemort senses. He'd really hurt her. But it was as she'd said. She would not become a victim. She simply refuses. She will not let the boy wound her as deeply as all that. She is too strong for Rodolphus Lestrange to truly offend.

Voldemort pulls out of Bellatrix's head and sits staring at her. She gazes back and whispers,

"He's just a silly boy."

Voldemort wonders just what she means by that. He blinks, very self-conscious of his own appearance. He's been spending this summer meeting with old school friends, talking politics. He wants to foment a new movement, a motion to put Blood Purity back on the map as an issue. He wants to cement himself as a leader. It will take time, he knows, but he's making moves now to secure old friendships anew. He looks around the Leaky Cauldron, wondering who is studying the appearance of Lord Voldemort and his young, beautiful goddaughter. He turns his face to Bellatrix and notes rather cruelly,

"Well, you're just a girl, so."

"Am I?" She's serious then, but before Voldemort can shoot back with anything, the serving wench comes by and sweeps their empty stew bowls away with her wand and takes the Galleons.

"Got people waiting for tables," the wench says rudely, and Voldemort scowls at her. The wench slinks away, and Voldemort purses his lips at Bellatrix.

"You're just a girl."

"Two months from today, that will not be so," Bellatrix says softly. She blinks a few times and then says, "You have already taught me so very much this summer, My Lord. I look forward to learning more."

He realises what she means. Two months from today, she'll be seventeen years of age. She'll be a fully-grown witch in the Ministry's eyes. She'll be away at school when that date comes to pass, but it will matter just the same. Won't it? Surely he'll feel it in his chest when she becomes a witch of age.

"You still have much to learn this summer," Voldemort says quietly. "We continue our studies tomorrow."

* * *

_27 August 1968_

_London_

"In Occlumency, the most important thing to do is to rid one's mind of all emotional reaction to a memory." Voldemort paces around his sitting room as Bellatrix scribbles down notes in her little leather book. Her quill flies, black feather flicking as she writes. Voldemort continues, "The easiest way to control this emotional response is to imagine a great black void and to sink into it like a drowning person sinking into the depths of the ocean."

Bellatrix frowns, but she obeys Voldemort's command to take notes without question. Her self-inking quill flutters along the page as she murmurs,

"_... sinking into the depths of the ocean._"

"It isn't easy," he warns her, "but with practise, you'll get it. We'll begin Occlumency studies over Christmas holidays."

She smiles up at him and nods, and his chest pulls strongly.

"That's all for today," Voldemort says, and Bellatrix slowly shuts her book. She raises her eyes from where she sits, and Voldemort feels his eyes burn like they have for the last sixteen years of her life. He remembers the first time he felt this burn with her, when she was eight days old and he cradled her in his arms. Things are different now; in less than a month she'll be a witch of age. She's learnt about fire magic, about blood magic, about Hexes and Jinxes and Curses. She's learnt about poisons and Unforgivables. She's learnt about Dark history, about Dark Beasts and Beings. She's learnt so much from Voldemort, and in just a few days, she'll be gone for months again. His eyes sear like fire as he stares at her, and he tells her,

"You have done well this summer. My goddaughter. My acolyte."

"Acolyte." She repeats the word and smiles a little. She remembers, as well as he does, he knows, the way she asked him to make her his acolyte. He's using her words now, and her face is peaceful as she stands from her chair. She slowly reaches up and plants her hands on Voldemort's chest as he breathes - in and out, in and out, her palms and fingers cinching just a little.

"I shall see you at Christmastime, My Lord," Bellatrix says, staring at the buttons going down his front. He sighs and reaches to cover her hand with his. He brings one hand to his lips and kisses at her knuckles, and he says to her,

"Do well in school.. Be healthy. Most of all, be happy."

"Is that what you want for me?" Bellatrix is still staring at his buttons. "You want me to be happy?"

"Yes." He whispers the word, and Bellatrix licks her lips before saying in a hoarse voice,

"Then kiss me before I go back to school."

He pulls her hand to his lips again, brushing his mouth along her fingers and whispering against her skin,

"Until Christmastime, then, Bellatrix. I'll send your birthday gift to school."

* * *

_17 December 1968_

_London_

There are four even knocks on his door that startle him, and his heart hammers in his chest as he flings himself up from his chair. He crosses his flat to the front door before he can think, and he opens his door with a huff of breath. He's had two tumblers of firewhisky already tonight, and he was working on a third. He's been anxiously waiting for her to get here, thinking she would come, knowing she'd go home first but then thinking perhaps she would come here. Still, he's rumpled in an open-collared black shirt with his sleeves rolled up and a tie loosened round his neck when he goes to the door.

She's there. When he stares out into the corridor, she's there and she's seventeen.

She's changed out of her Hogwarts uniform before coming here; she's wearing a simple black wool dress and a velvet travelling cloak. Her wild curls are pulled back into a chignon at the nape of her neck, and her black onyx earrings dangle at her ears. She's wearing the onyx pendant he sent her for her seventeenth birthday, the matching gift he sent by owl to Hogwarts in the hopes that she would realise he still cared deeply for her as a godfather cared for his pupil.

"Bellatrix," Voldemort says finally, having surveyed her form rather thoroughly. Her eyes glisten, and she drags her teeth over her lip before asking,

"May I come in?"

"Of course." Voldemort gulps and stands aside. Bellatrix comes inside and pulls at the satin ribbon at her throat. She unties her cloak and pulls it off, and Voldemort wandlessly Banishes it to the rack near the door. He watches her approach him, and she reaches up to touch at her teardrop onyx pendant.

"Thank you for my birthday gift, My Lord."

"You're seventeen now," he says, to the both of them, and she shuts her eyes for a short moment.

"Have you had dinner?" Voldemort asks a bit awkwardly. Bellatrix nods. Voldemort clears his throat and offers, "Wine?"

"I should like to stay clear-headed," Bellatrix insists. She whispers gently, "These past few months… I have… I need to tell you now."

"What do you need to tell me, Bella?" Voldemort asks, and Bellatrix takes a few more steps towards him before opening her eyes. Her hand migrates from her necklace to his chest, touching there just like she touched him in the summer. His own right hand goes to her waist on instinct, and he pulls her a little closer. He stares down at her, deeply examining the chestnut hue of her eyes, realising for the first time just what colour brown they are and how very much he likes them. He's allowing himself, now for the first time, to see her as _beautiful_, and he sees her fully. She smells of roses, and his hand slithers around her waist and settles at the small of her back as he breathes her in.

"What do you need to tell me?" he asks again, and Bellatrix gazes helplessly up at him. Her full, dark lips part, and her eyes search his. He must be so hideous to her, he thinks, but if she minds, she doesn't say so. He pinches his lips.

"I need to tell you," she mumbles, "that I… I…"

"That you _what?"_ Voldemort almost snaps at her, his hand tightening on her back. Her free hand goes up to his rough jaw, her thumb drawing beneath his bloodshot eye, and he flinches at her touch.

"Please just kiss me," Bellatrix says, her voice shaking like a leaf.

Voldemort acts before he knows what he's doing. He pulls her nearer by her back and cups her face in his other hand. He bends down, and she comes up on her tiptoes. He tilts his head to the right and she does the same, and then his mouth is on hers. One touch, then another, of their lips, and he's drowning in her. It's like he's been struck by lightning, like fire is flowing through his veins. He's suddenly pulling at her lips with his and rubbing at her back and face, and she moans up against his mouth. Her fingers convulse on his chest, and her other hand trembles on his face.

He applies pressure and speeds up a little, his mouth moving more urgently against hers as he pulls her more tightly against him than ever. They stumble together to the side a few steps, and Voldemort threads his fingers into Bellatrix's thick curls. He dares to peek his tongue out from between his teeth, dragging it slowly over Bellatrix's bottom lip. She groans and then whimpers, and he feels himself coming alive for her. Every hair on his flesh has prickled to attention. His cheeks have flushed hot and his throat feels constricted. His eyes burn like fire as he breathes in the scent of roses on her.

She opens her mouth a little and lets him in, and he pries his tongue beneath her teeth and explores her mouth a bit. After a moment, her tongue twines with his, dancing slowly, and then Voldemort can hardly breathe. His hand goes from the small of her back to her waist again and squeezes tightly, his other hand matching the spot after moving from her face. His fingers pull up from her waist and over her ribcage, and she smashes her body against his. He's aware, suddenly, that he's got an erection pressing onto her stomach, but she doesn't seem to mind. Indeed, she grinds against him a little as though she's aware of his arousal and enjoys it.

She's _enjoying _this. The thought races through Voldemort's mind as he kisses her more deeply than ever. Her hands move to his shoulders and hold him tightly there, massaging his broad muscles through his thin black shirt. Voldemort finally, finally breaks from Bellatrix's mouth and touches his forehead to hers. He's hunched over; she's so damned small compared to him. His breath mingles with hers in the space between their mouths, desperate panting sending hot air back and forth between their lips. He kisses her lips a few more times and then whispers frantically,

"No, Bella; I can't undo that."

"Do you want to undo it?" she asks him, and he knows at once that he would never take back that kiss, not in a thousand years. He squeezes shut his eyes and kisses her cheekbone, and he murmurs onto her skin,

"Did you come here tonight for a kiss?"

"I came here to tell you that I have wanted you since you came back from the Continent," Bellatrix replies, and Voldemort pulls back. He stares at her, his eyes boring into hers, and he sucks his lip between his teeth. He examines the onyx she's wearing, the jewellery he's gifted her as her godfather. He thinks of all the Dart Arts she's learnt from him already, and he whispers,

"So much to teach you, Bella. Now that you're seventeen and can do all the practical work."

He tucks a stray curl behind her ear and bends to kiss her lips again, saying softly,

"So much work to do together. We have so much to do, you and I."

Bellatrix nods, looking content. But then she gazes at his sternum, and her cheeks pink, and she whispers,

"Please kiss me again. Don't send me home right now. Kiss me again, My Lord; I beg you."

He does as she asks, drawing her into his arms again and pulling her flush against him, bending down and pressing his lips to hers. She tastes sweet, and she smells of roses, and once more his eyes burn like fire.


	4. Chapter 4

_20 December 1968_

_Castle Lestrange_

She wouldn't come to her ex-boyfriend's ancestral home, except that it's where everyone in the Pureblood community has gathered to celebrate Christmas.

"This must be difficult for you," Druella Black muses to Bellatrix as the family marches through the arched corridor leading to the ballroom. "Being here after what came to pass between you and Rodolphus."

"No," Bellatrix says, and it's only half a lie. She shrugs. "I find I don't mind what Dolph does anymore. I don't care about him. My mind is otherwise occupied."

"You obsess over your godfather," spits Andromeda, and Bellatrix shoots her a deathly glare. She narrows her eyes and insists,

"Soon enough everyone will be fawning over my godfather."

"Not me," declares Andromeda. She shakes her head. "The last time he was over for dinner, he said he wanted to prioritise Blood Purity. I don't like that one bit."

"Hush your mouth, Andy," Narcissa says to her older sister. "You know how we all feel."

"And I know how _I_ feel," Andromeda says firmly.

"I'll have no talk about any of that tonight," Druella Black declares. She and Cygnus lead their daughters into the ballroom, and Bellatrix looks around at once for him.

She sees Selwyns, the host family of the Lestranges. She sees Averys and Yaxleys, Greengrasses and Rowles. She sees dozens of members of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, the tightly intermarried group to which she and her entire extended family belong. But she doesn't see Lord Voldemort. Has he not been invited? Surely he has. Wasn't Gareth Lestrange a close friend of Tom Riddle's at school?

Suddenly, someone has swept up beside Cygnus Black III and put his hand on the wizard's shoulder. It's Gareth Lestrange, Rodolphus' father. Gareth grins broadly to the Black family and says in a warm voice,

"Welcome to Castle Lestrange."

Bellatrix marvels that Gareth seems to bear no ill will towards her for breaking up with his son, but, then, his son did cheat on Bellatrix. She says softly,

"Mr Lestrange."

"Happy Christmas to all," says Gareth, and he and Cygnus start talking business as Druella pulls the girls away. Bellatrix glances over her shoulder to see Rodolphus standing with Antonia Malfoy, petting the witch's arm. A flush of hot embarrassment goes through her for a little moment, but the angry sensation quickly fades, giving way to a curiosity about where her godfather is.

"Bella!"

She whirls round at the sound of her name and is face-to-face with three Slytherin girls from school. Amelida Selwyn, Simona Shacklebolt, and Eleticia Burke all stand before her, looking pretty in party dresses. Eleticia strokes at Bellatrix's sleeve and breathes,

"Don't you look lovely."

"I don't know. Do I?" Bellatrix coughs a laugh, but the other girls seem to be serious in the way they're gaping. Bellatrix has come in a black and silver brocade gown with black lace trim, her curls piled into a loose bun at the back of her hair and tied through with silver and black ribbons. She wears her onyx jewellery from Lord Voldemort; she'd debated wearing his South Sea pearls.

"You look _so pretty_," says Amelida Selwyn, and Bellatrix scoffs as she plucks a glass of Champagne from a passing floating tray. She raises her glass and says,

"Thanks for the confidence boost, girls."

"Are you going to dance with him tonight?" asks Simona, and Bellatrix almost splutters out her Champagne. How do they know about her godfather? But then SImona specifies, "With Rodolphus."

"Why the _blazes_ would I dance with Rodolphus?" Bellatrix snarls, and the girls all shrink back a little. Eleticia says softly,

"B-Because he's hosting."

"He's not; his parents are," Bellatrix spits. "If it had been Rodolphus hosting, I wouldn't have come."

"Right." Amelida dabs a cocktail napkin at her plum-painted lip and says, "Have a good rest of your holiday, Bellatrix. We'll see you back at school."

"Goodbye, then," Bellatrix huffs, as the three girls turn around and walk away. Suddenly a voice from behind her asks,

"School friends?"  
Bellatrix shuts her eyes and smiles a little. She turns round and opens her eyes to see Lord Voldemort standing before her. She shakes her head and insists,

"We barely know one another; we're roommates and classmates."

He tips his head. "Do you actually have any close friends?"

"Did you?" she challenges him, and he laughs a little as he rolls his eyes.

"I had _followers._ It's very different."

"Well, I'm rather alone," Bellatrix confesses. He reaches to tuck a stray curl into her hairdo, and he shakes his head as he says gently,

"No. You're not alone."

"My Lord," Bellatrix murmurs, and she takes a half step towards him. He sucks in breath hard and whispers,

"Not here."

"Where, then?" Bellatrix demands, for she needs him right now. She was kissed most ardently in his flat a few days ago, and he left her hungry for more. He ground his hips against her belly and let her feel his erection. He cupped her breast through her dress. They kissed until their lips were bruised and Bellatrix was breathless and dizzy. Now she wants - _needs_ \- him, and she mumbles up to him,

"This is a big castle."

He coughs out a noise and vehemently shakes his head. "Are you suggesting…?"

"Yes." Bellatrix nods. His eyes scan over the crowd in the ballroom, as though he's checking to see who's paying attention to the two of them. Finally he whispers,

"Come with me," and he whirls on his foot. He strides briskly towards the corridor, and Bellatrix follows as quickly as she can. Someone must be watching them leave, she thinks. Someone must be training their eyes upon Lord Voldemort and Bellatrix Black as they make an escape from the ballroom.

Bellatrix hustles out into the corridor to see Voldemort scampering with quick steps in his dress robes down a long carpet runner, and she trots to catch up with him. She finally does, and then he makes a hard left and opens a door. He shoves the door open, and Bellatrix crashes over the threshold of a wooden archway with him into what appears to be a small parlour. Voldemort shuts the door and yanks out his wand, aiming it at the knob and muttering,

"_Colloportus._"

Then suddenly he's got Bellatrix shoved against the door, and she's gasping as she's swept into a deep kiss. She's shocked by the ardent way he's kissing her, by the eagerness in his arms and his lips and his tongue. She's struck by the firm grasp holding her near, by the conk of her head against the wooden door as Voldemort crushes her mouth with his. She's moaning into his mouth and clenching at the front of his robes as she slumps against the door.

"Bella." He rips his mouth from hers and hisses her name against her lips. Bellatrix reaches up to hold his marled, scarred face in her hands and wonders for the hundredth time what sort of magic did this to him. How did he become so destroyed?

"A story for a later time," he says, and she realises he's been in her head. She stares right at him and thinks as powerfully as she can,

_I want you._

"Bellatrix." Voldemort starts to hike at her black and silver brocade skirts, and then her breath comes rickety through her lips. Suddenly she realises that she's bleeding, that she's got a device in to mop up the mess but that she can't properly engage with him. Not in the way he's apparently planning. It's the tail end of it all, but still… The thoughts of her monthly cycle whirl through her head in a panic until Voldemort gently drops her skirts and kisses her forehead.

"Probably for the best," he hums onto her skin. "I need something to stop me with you."

She boldly reaches for the waistband of his dress robes and says, "I don't need anything to stop me with you."

"No, Bella, you mustn't," he whispers, but his eyes have wrenched shut and his yanked mouth has twisted a little. Bellatrix leans up on her tiptoes and kisses at his cheek, whispering into his ear,

"Let me touch you. I want you. My Lord, I want you."

"Bella." He sounds tortured, and when her fingers migrate under his outer robe and make their way to the placket of his trousers, he grunts. She unfastens the buttons running down the front of his trousers and feels a growing bulge beneath.

She touched Rodolphus more than once. She knows what a man's cock is. She knows what to do with it, for the most part. She knows what happens when wizards find their pleasure.

She wants to make Lord Voldemort find his pleasure.

He buckles over a little when her fingers creep into his trousers and push aside his cotton underwear. His mouth goes to her ear, and he pulls the lobe between his lips as he whispers,

"What a mess you'll make, Bella."

"Then I shall clean it up," Bellatrix promises. She shivers at the feel of his cock in her hands as she pulls him out from his underwear, and she moves her face until she's kissing him on the mouth. He urgently kisses her back and then grunts again as he pushes his cock into her hands.

"_Lubrico,_" he mumbles, and his wandless magic is powerful then as Bellatrix feels a silent slick slip beneath her palms and fingers. She wonders distantly if this is boring for him. Can't he do this himself? What's so special about her touching his cock when it's something he can do to himself? He scoffs and shakes his head as he kisses Bellatrix's lips and murmurs,

"There is absolutely nothing boring about you touching me here, Bellatrix."

"You're in my head all the time," she complains, teasing him a little. He kisses her lips once more and assures her,

"I give you space, most of the time. It's hard to stay out. Especially when you think such interesting things. You think your Hogwarts friends are rude and you don't much like them."

"They aren't my friends," Bellatrix growls softly. Voldemort kisses her more deeply and then says against her mouth,

"But you aren't alone."

She casts a few languid strokes up and down his shaft, and he touches his forehead to the wood beside Bellatrix. He moans a little, his hands pressing against the door, his fingers cinching. Bellatrix smirks and glances down to see the swollen purple head of his cock between them. She watches her own hands move. She grips him firmly; she knows he won't break. She uses her hands trailing one after the other to go up his shaft and over his tip and then repeats the motion, over and over again. She changes direction, pumping him into her fists as his hips start to gyrate. He's panting against the wooden door now, his fingernails scratching just a little, and he whispers a bit frantically,

"Going to make a colossal mess…"

"Make your mess," Bellatrix says, in what she hopes is a seductive voice. "I've got my wand."

He seems pushed over the edge by that. He squeezes his bloodshot eyes shut and pinches his marled lips into a flat line. She feels him buck his hips forward a few times, and then suddenly cum is spurting all over her skirts, jumping and leaping in creamy ropes that spill down her front. She stares at the little disaster, not minding in the least, and gently removes her hands from Voldemort's cock. She whispers to him,

"Tell me that felt good. To have me touching you."

"Bella." He takes her face in his hands and smashes her mouth with his, and she whimpers against his mouth again as he draws her into a very deep kiss.

A minute later, they've both cleaned up. Bellatrix uses her wand to Siphon and Scour her dress and hands, and Voldemort tucks his cock away and adjusts his dress robes. Bellatrix stares at him and says softly,

"I suppose we ought to go back to the party. People will wonder where we've been."

He curls up half his mouth and laments, "I think some people will know precisely where we've been, Bellatrix. I don't think your parents suppose you and I disappeared from the party to study Pyromancy."

"You promised to teach me Occlumency," Bellatrix reminds him, and he nods.

"Starting tomorrow," he says, "we shall study Occlumency. Are you ready?"

"As ready as I'll ever be." Bellatrix is sheepish for a moment, then admits, "I never quite feel ready for you."

"Come and dance with me," Voldemort suggests, and Bellatrix raises her eyebrows at him. She glances over her shoulder towards the door, and he nods. "Come back in there with me and dance with me and act like nothing's happened. Anyone's suspicion will be just that."

In the ballroom, eyes follow them as they make their way to the dance floor. Bellatrix feels the gazes of her mother and sisters, of her father. She feels the questioning glare of Rodolphus, and the suspicious glances of the Slytherin girls from school. She feels all the eyes and ignores them, walking with Lord Voldemort to stand in a neat, tight stance. She feels his hand at her waist, and the sensation is right and true now. She doesn't startle at all this time. When he takes her hand in his, he squeezes a little, and she stands closer. She moves with him to an easy waltz, and the two of them fall into the steps like nature intends for them to be dancing.

"Occlumency tomorrow, then," Bellatrix says quietly, and Voldemort just stares down at her for a long moment. Finally he asks,

"What's the best way to erase emotion from a memory?"

"Imagine a great black void," Bellatrix says at once, "and envision sinking into it like a drowning person sinking into the ocean."

"You'll learn quickly," Voldemort assures her. "I have confidence in you."

"Did you have confidence in me when I was an eight-year-old girl and you were sending me letters and gifts?" Bellatrix asks. "When you were -"

"I don't want to to talk about those years now," Voldemort says very gravely. Bellatrix's mouth falls open.

"Why not?"

"Because things are different now," he says, as though he is pointing out the obvious. "I am still your godfather, and you are still my acolyte, but now look at us, Bellatrix."

_Look at us,_ he says, and she does. Her eyes flick between them, at his strong, broad form and her smaller body. She looks at his scarred face and desires him badly. She gulps and admits,

"I'm a virgin. Rodolphus and I never -"

"You don't need to tell me that," Voldemort seethes. He shakes his head and almost stops dancing. "What use would I have for information like that?"

"I'm going back to school," Bellatrix notes, "and it's a… a thing that people do now that we're sixth years. It's a common thing to do, you know, and I…"

"Bella, make your point," Voldemort snaps. Bellatrix stares up at him and whispers,

"I only want you."

"You're a covetous little child," he sneers. "You want your godfather because of some twisted little fantasy that your mind has cooked up about an older -"

"I want _you_," Bellatrix pushes, "because you are brilliant and I have loved you for years."

"Not like this, you haven't," Voldemort spits. "Not in the right way."

"Ever since you came home," Bellatrix says, her eyes searing like fire. "Do you deny that a girl of fifteen can fall in love?"

"Not with…" His own eyes shut for a moment as the waltz ends. He steps away and bows, and when he rises, his eyes have opened and he shakes his head. "Not with me."

"Yes," Bellatrix nods. "With you."

"Occlumency tomorrow," Voldemort says sharply. "Be at my flat at eight in the morning; I'll feed you breakfast."

Then he walks away, and not for the first time, Bellatrix is left standing on a dance floor in his wake


	5. Chapter 5

_21 December 1968_

_London_

She's early. At five minutes to eight, Voldemort strides across his flat towards the door where she's knocking. He's dressed in simple black robes today, elegant with velvet trim but otherwise unassuming. He clears his throat, imagining his hands on her, her hands on him. She _wants _him, he knows, and as he nears the door, he realises just how badly he wants her, too.

He opens the door and whips out his wand, jamming it against the side of Bellatrix's neck as she gasps in shock. Her head tips back just a little, eyes wide and shining as she tries to figure what she's done to earn a wand to the throat. She squirms where she stands and whispers,

"Master…"

He tingles at that; she's used the word before, but so rarely, and he loves the feel of it in the air between them. _Master._ The syllables tumble off her tongue and seem to float for a moment before Voldemort huffs and mumbles,

"_Legilimens._"

Bellatrix's knees visibly buckle as Voldemort crashes into her mind. She's completely open to him. He can have whatever he wants in here. He paws through the frantic spiral of memories in her head and finally settles on one that feels particularly insistent.

It's Bellatrix as a third-year student, sitting alone in her four-poster bed with her wand illuminated and aimed at a parchment. It's a letter from her godfather. She reaches up to touch at the pearls he's sent her and reads the letter for the fifth time that night.

"Bellatrix, control yourself," Voldemort insists, jabbing his wand more firmly against Bellatrix's neck. She flinches and murmurs,

"I'm trying, My Lord."

"Drown in the ocean," he instructs her. "Find a great dark depth and drown in it, Bella."

She blinks a few times, and he feels a flicker in her head. She's pushing him away from the memory of her reading the letter. It's fading, like the bluish light from her wand has gone out and the bed has faded into the ether. He yanks hard at the memory and then shoves it aside, ripping through her mind until he reaches Rodolphus.

Now Bellatrix, in her memory, is kissing desperately at Rodolphus' neck as the boy's hand slides up her front. Rodolphus drags a thumb over Bellatrix's peaked nipple, and there's a vibrant red flash of arousal in the memory. Then there's dark brown embarrassment flooding through Bellatrix's head. Voldemort pinches his lips and snarls,

"Get your emotions away from that memory, Bellatrix. Try harder."

Suddenly he stumbles backward a step. She's thrust him out so violently that he almost loses his grip on his wand, and he stares at her over the threshold for a long moment. Her eyes are shut as though in peaceful slumber, and the corners of her mouth have curled up a little. After what feels like an eternity, she opens her eyes and asks,

"Like that?"

"Yes, something like that. Come inside," Voldemort commands her. "I've breakfast for you."

She walks into the flat and he shuts the door behind her. She pulls off her velvet robe and hangs it on the hook by the door, revealing a simple black skirt and matching peasant-style blouse. She's belted her tiny waist with an aggressive sort of cincher, and she wears knee-high boots. Voldemort takes half a second to ogle her, and then he sighs,

"You understand why I had to strike the moment you arrived. If you've got warning, your training won't activate. You need to be prepared at any moment for… _Legilimens._"

Again, he barrels into her head and hears whispers, sees flashes of light and colour. She seems to be struggling to resist even his searching, and he feels an odd tug urging him to _just get out of her head._ He coughs a little and pushes harder, but when he settles on the memory of Bellatrix and Voldemort kissing for the first time, here in this flat, he knows he's trapped her. Velveteen comfort wraps around the memory, a sense of complete and utter bliss.

"Drown in the ocean, Bella," Voldemort snaps. Bellatrix shuts her eyes again, but Voldemort seethes, "Keep your eyes open. Look at me."

She does, and she appears to swallow a knot in her throat. Then she steps closer to Voldemort and touches at his chest, and she whispers,

"I'm drowning."

Suddenly, the memory goes black and quiet. In its place, Bellatrix's mind shoves forth something Voldemort was not looking for - a jovial time in the Great Hall at Hogwarts. Bellatrix is eating roast beef and smiling a little as Lucius Malfoy tells stories about the pests in their garden and how he spent the whole summer holiday listening to his mother complain about her precious rose bushes.

"Well done." Voldemort gently pulls out of Bellatrix's head and snakes his fingers into her hair. "I was not expecting you to catch on _that_ quickly, I confess."

"I've an excellent teacher, My Lord," Bellatrix tells him, "and I've a predilection for Darkness."

He remembers telling her that, that she was born to be Dark, and his throat feels tight. He nods and gestures to his small dining table.

"Breakfast," he says. "We'll practise some more later. You're taking to it quicker than I'd have dreamed. You like soft-boiled eggs, I hope?"

They eat in silence for a few minutes, Bellatrix seeming nervous as she dips her toast into yolk and chews. She sips down some pumpkin juice and sighs, putting her toast on her plate as she declares,

"I wasn't lying. About… what I said at the party. I wasn't lying."

"No. You're not lying; you're just mistaken," Voldemort tells her. He chews his own toast and takes a sip of his own drink, and then he clarifies, "When I came back from the Continent, you were still a child. It hasn't been -"

"I could still think for myself," Bellatrix says defensively. Voldemort nearly snaps at her not to interrupt him, that he's her godfather and her teacher and he deserves more respect than that. But he licks his lips and patiently tells her,

"You were fifteen, Bellatrix. If you felt anything towards me, it was girlish obsession with the mysterious man who had been sending you -"

"I know what I felt! What I have been feeling," Bellatrix says shrilly. Now Voldemort's face goes hot and he chomps his lip hard. He shakes his head, annoyed at having been interrupted again, and his hand shakes as he reaches for his pumpkin juice and brings it to his lips. He takes a drink and sets the glass down, and then he informs Bellatrix tightly,

"You can't love me."

"May I ask why not?" Bellatrix blinks, and Voldemort watches her eyes well and redden. He clears his throat and says,

"No one has ever loved me. I was an orphan raised by Muggles who did not love me. Certainly my father bore me no love. Perhaps my mother did, in the instant before her death. But I have no memory of being loved. It is a foreign notion. In any case, love is a very silly thing. It distracts people from their greater purpose."

Bellatrix's eye boils over with a tear, which she brushes out of the way as she professes,

"_You_ are my purpose. Lord Voldemort is my purpose."

"You don't mean that." Voldemort pushes his chair back and flies to his feet, striding away from the dining table into his sitting room. Bellatrix hustles to follow him, and he feels her pull at his elbow. He whirls on her and snarls down at her, like an angry dog,

"Silly little child with silly little thoughts in your head. _Legilimens._"

He careens through her memories until he finds one from the summer. She'd been studying under him for months at that point, and in her memory she is watching him make minty fizzy drinks to shave off the worst of the heat wave. He looks so handsome, Bellatrix thinks in her memory, and then she realises just how in love with him she is.

"I'm drowning," Bellatrix whispers, taking a step away from Voldemort and releasing his elbow. She seems dizzy, like she'll fall, but then she forces her eyes open and Voldemort feels a sharp pinch between their minds. Suddenly she is sealed off to him, completely dark and quiet with no replacement memory. He purses his lips and paws through her inky black void, trying to find memories. But there's nothing there. Her mind is completely blank.

She's drowned herself in an ocean, just as he's taught her to do.

"Fine," Voldemort clicks his tongue and crosses his arms over his chest. He looks away from her; she's far too beautiful for him to say this next bit to her face. "Go home, Bellatrix. You've done well with Occlumency. That's enough for today. Goodbye."

Bellatrix slinks back. He sees her out of his peripheral vision as she bows her head and whispers,

"Master."

"Don't." He shuts his eyes and finds that his breath has quickened. His pulse is racing; he feels it galloping in his chest. "Don't say that."

"I'm sorry." Bellatrix's voice is thick; she's on the verge of crying. "I really do love you. I'm sorry it makes you so angry to hear it. I'm sorry."

"Stop that," Voldemort says, his eyes still shut. "Don't you dare apologise for… I should have known that someday you would become… _this. _That crone in Kiev was right, and you -"

"Crone? Kiev?" Bellatrix sounds piqued. She touches at Voldemort's elbow and begs, "Tell me. Please."

Voldemort finally opens his eyes and says, resigned, "Six years ago, I met an old witch in Kiev, in the magical underground there, who purported to be a unique type of Seer. She could look you straight in the eyes, she said, and tell you something of great import that would happen to you in future. Well, as part of my studies of Dark magic, and to try and figure out her methods, I let her meet my eyes. And do you know what she told me?"

"No," Bellatrix breathes. "What did she tell you?"

Voldemort lets out a heavy breath and shakes his head. "_The child you cradled a woman shall become. And you shall hold her again, very differently this time. You shall hold her as a woman, not as a child. Her love for you shall warp and shift, from giddy infatuation into deep, abiding loyalty."_

Bellatrix seems wholly unable to control her tears now. She stares up at Voldemort, and he studies her for a moment, taking in her sharp cheekbones and her full lips, her wide dark eyes and her wild hair. She's so damned _beautiful._ He can't help but think so. He reaches out to her to cup her jaw, and then he bends and gently touches his lips to hers.

"She said you would hold me," Bellatrix says through tears. "Will you? Will you hold me, Master?"

His eyes sear badly as he snakes one arm around her back and pulls her near. She cradles up against his body, her face against his chest and her fingers shaking on his robes. He pets her hair with his free hand and bends to kiss the top of her head.

_Hold her as a woman_, the crone had said. Voldemort remembers being told all of that, but he also remembers having brushed it off as nonsensical Divination. At the time, Bellatrix had been eleven years old and there was no future in sight where she was a beautiful woman and he was the wizard craving her. Things had been different then. Things are different now.

"Come into my head," Bellatrix murmurs against his chest. He lets his lids shut and whispers,

"_Legilimens._"

She's pushing forth a specific memory - the two of them dancing at the Christmas party. He's staring at her with his ugly, bloodshot eyes, and a small smile tugs at his marled lips. In the memory, her heart races and she tries to keep dancing, but all she can think is that she _loves_ him, more deeply than she would have ever thought possible.

Another memory comes out to the forefront. Bellatrix is screaming, '_Stupefy!_' and Rodolphus Lestrange is hurtling towards a stone wall. Bellatrix's heart shatters in the memory, betrayal ripping through her core. But then she thinks of Lord Voldemort, and she shuts her eyes and wishes she were with him.

"No, you can't love me," Voldemort hums, pulling out of her head, "because I am not a creature to be loved."

"_Deep, abiding loyalty_." Bellatrix quotes the crone and raises her eyes to Voldemort. She looks very serious then as she whispers, "I am nothing without you."

"May I give you something?" Voldemort chews his lip, and Bellatrix seems curious. She nods, and Voldemort gulps. He pulls out his wand and takes a step back from where he's been holding Bellatrix. He pushes at the sleeve of her blouse on her left arm, and she watches with rapt attention as he uses the tip of his wand to draw and elaborate picture. Then he incants meaningfully,

"_Morsmordre._"

Bellatrix's arm flinches as if she's in pain. Voldemort remembers the awful internal itch he'd induced on himself when he put this magical tattoo on his own flesh. Now she is the first to receive its pair. She will be the first to prove to him that his unique brand of Protean Charm has worked, that this is a viable brand to put upon those who would call themselves his friends and followers. Her Mark fades from pink to maroon, and then there's a fully flushed black design of a snake emerging from a skull. Bellatrix holds up her arm and marvels for a long moment.

"What is it?" she asks, and Voldemort informs her,

"Is is the Dark Mark. If you truly wish to be loyal to me, then you will wear it gladly. I can call you through it. Summon you. It is a method of communication I have planned for my movement. You are the first to receive it."

Bellatrix chokes out a little sound of disbelief. She raises her gaze to Voldemort and then quickly falls down onto one knee. As she genuflects, she reaches for Voldemort's hand and kisses his knuckles.

"Master," she hums onto his flesh, and suddenly he can't control himself. He hauls her to her feet and snares his arms around her, kissing her feverishly.

_The child you cradled a woman will become. And you shall hold her again, very differently this time. You shall hold her as a woman, not as a child. Her love for you will warp and shift, from giddy infatuation into deep, abiding loyalty._

The crone's words echo inside Voldemort's mind as he tangles his tongue with Bellatrix's. She's unclasping the front of his robes before he knows what's happening, but he makes no attempt to stop her. She pushes his outer robe off and tears her mouth from his, whispering on his lips,

"I need you."

"Aren't you still…?" Voldemort tries to figure the best way to ask if she's still bleeding. They went mad with one another last night, but she held back because she'd been bleeding. This morning, she cups his erection in her hand and says with very evident frustration,

"But I _need_ you."

"Soon." Voldemort pushes her back by her shoulders. He makes eye contact and holds it, and then he wonders just how the Crone made her predictions. He sighs and tells Bellatrix, "If I enter you, that's it. It's all spoiled if I -"

"Pardon me, My Lord, but I do not think witches go rotten once wizards have been inside of them." Bellatrix pinches her lips tightly, and Voldemort raises his eyebrows.

"I'm twenty-five years older than you."

"And?" Bellatrix shrugs helplessly. "And you're more powerful than anyone I've ever met. And you are a very good teacher to me, and I have loved you for years. Why not you? Why someone else?"

_Someone else._ Voldemort lets out a little noise at that, his lips parting as he takes a step back from her. He shakes his head. He can't fathom the idea of someone else being inside of Bellatrix's body. She's _his_, isn't she? Hasn't she taken the Dark Mark for him? Doesn't she call him _Master?_ Isn't she madly in love with him? Someone else.

"If you still want it on New Year's Eve," Voldemort says softly, "then come here and I shall give you what you crave. What we both… What I…"

His cheeks feel hot again, and inside his head, a voice screams at him to just take her into his bedroom right this moment and damn the mess. He actually flicks his eyes to the doorway that leads to his bedroom, but as he does, Bellatrix mumbles,

"I'm sure you've got loads of experience."

He narrows his eyes at her and tips his head. "I am almost forty-two years old. Am I not permitted experience? You were a child when I was on the Continent. Was I meant to wait for you?"

He's been too harsh, he realises at once. Her face twists a little, and she shakes her head, but she says,

"I'm just the latest in a line."

"That is not remotely true." Voldemort flushes, and he tries to steady his breath as he informs her, "You're different. Things are different with you than they used to be. Things are different with you than they are with anyone else."

"Because I am loyal?" Bellatrix guesses, but he scoffs and reminds her,

"You've learnt the hardest bits of Occlumency in less than an hour and you're questioning why I… Bella. _Bella._"

He draws her up for another kiss, and as she pushes herself onto her tip toes, she encircles his shoulders with her lithe little arms. Voldemort catches a glimpse of her dormant pink Dark Mark, and it makes him stir even more wildly inside. He drags his fingers over her ribcage and releases her mouth, whispering,

"If you still want it on New Year's Eve, I shall give it to you."

"I'm going to want it," Bellatrix says, a hint of teasing in her voice, "so you'd best be prepared, My Lord."

"Don't worry." He kisses her forehead and breathes in the scent of roses. She's intoxicating, he thinks, and then he gently fists at her hair and drags his lips over her skin. "I'll be ready for you."

"But it's Christmas before then," Bellatrix reminds him, "and I've got a gift for you. Will you visit my parents' house so I can give it to you?"

"You could bring the gift here," Voldemort argues, drawing back a little, but Bellatrix shakes her head and insists,

"I can't carry it across London, and I am not confident enough in my spellwork to Shrink it and then make it normal again. I just… will you come and see us? I've got something for you and I promise you'll like it."

Voldemort curls up his lips and nods. "Of course. I'll come in two days' time. It's fine; I've a gift for your parents, anyway. And, of course, something for you."

"You've always had little somethings for me," Bellatrix says shyly. Voldemort licks his lips and insists,

"Those years are behind us. You're a grown witch now, and that is how I see you."

"Hold me," Bellatrix whispers. Voldemort snakes his arms around her again and draws her close. He inhales deeply with his nose burrowed at the crown of her head, filling his lungs with the scent of rose and the feeling of _her_. He thinks about the Dark Mark he's put on her, the way she learnt Occlumency like it was nothing. He thinks of her hands on his body, and suddenly he finds himself whispering down to her,

"Stay for a while before you go home."

He drags his thumb over her left forearm, and she seethes as his magic courses through her Dark Mark. She raises her eyes to him and nods.

"I'll stay," she says, "for as long as you'll have me."

Voldemort smirks a little and nods. "All day, then."

She smiles back, a warm and happy little grin, and then she buries her face in his tunic and kisses his chest through the material. Her voice is muffled as she responds,

"All day, then, Master."


	6. Chapter 6

_24 December 1968_

_London_

Bellatrix stands in the library and stares at the small box on the low table before her. She paces and eyes it, wondering if she's done a good enough job preparing it. It's wrapped in shiny black paper with silver ribbon, and it looks sleek and masculine. Bellatrix chews her lip and pulls out her wand, aiming it at the gift. She's about to neaten the bow she's tied out of ribbon, but then she hears Blinky, the House-Elf, pattering towards the door and calling,

"Master Cygnus! Madam Druella! A guest has arrived!"

Bellatrix's heart hammers. She blinks, lowering her wand, and she listens carefully as the door opens and then shuts.

"Happy Christmas, sir," says Blinky anxiously. If Voldemort responds, Bellatrix can't hear him. She knows it's him. It must be. Sure enough, after a moment, her father's blustering voice comes billowing up the stairs.

"Sir! So good of you to come. Happy Christmas."

"Happy Christmas, Cygnus. Druella. Thank you kindly for the donation to the cause," says Voldemort in his sleek voice. Bellatrix's stomach clenches as her father responds jovially,

"Why, that was just a Christmas gift, old man. But of course we support everything you stand for, and we want to be a part of it all."

"Is Bella here?" Voldemort's voice is softer then, and there's a pause, a hesitation. Finally, Druella says,

"She's upstairs. In the library, I think. She was reading. Here; I'll call her."

"I'll go up to her. I'm sure she can hear us just fine." Voldemort sounds amused. Suddenly there are footsteps on the stairs, and Bellatrix tucks her wand away. She clears her throat and folds her hands before her elegant black silk dress. She watches his figure appear in the doorway of the library, and then a little smile comes over her.

"Happy Christmas," he says, and he's got a gift in his hands. It's very small, so small that Bellatrix wonders what on Earth could be inside. She licks her bottom lip, wanting him quite badly, and she murmurs,

"Happy Christmas, My Lord."

He comes into the library and very quietly shuts the door behind him. He approaches Bellatrix, and for a moment, she can feel the fizzling energy between them. Then he snakes one hand around her waist and pulls her near by the small of her back, and he whispers,

"A few days feels awfully long when I know you're here."

"Master." Bellatrix is overwhelmed by him, and she shuts her eyes. She collapses up against him, melding her form with his as he bends to kiss her forehead. She mewls for more and he tips her head up and brushes his lips against hers.

"Mmm… not with your parents downstairs," he mumbles finally. "This is a gift exchange."

"Right." Bellatrix huffs and gestures towards the box she's got waiting for him on the low table. "Now, before you open it, My Lord, I have to warn you that it's cursed."

His eyebrows perk up, and he smirks a little. "You're gifting me a cursed object, Bellatrix?"

"I made it," she says, tipping her face a bit proudly. "I studied curses under you for ages, didn't I? All it took was some trial and error and a few unfortunate mice to be certain it's working properly."

"What is it? Can I touch it?" Voldemort approaches the table and sets down his little box. He seems genuinely curious, and awfully excited. Bellatrix nods, and he picks up the box. He Vanishes the wrapping paper off of it without wand or incantation, and as always Bellatrix is in awe of his magic. He carefully opens the wooden box in which Bellatrix has placed her creation, and he pulls out what looks like an ordinary crystal goblet. He raises his eyes to Bellatrix and asks,

"What does it do?"

"Anything - _anything_ \- consumed out of that goblet is lethally poisonous," Bellatrix informs him, crossing her arms over her chest. His mouth drops open, and Bellatrix clarifies, "a single drop of water, when drunk from that goblet, will kill. Any liquid that touches it is transformed into a deadly poison."

"You have given me a weapon," Voldemort pronounces, and he holds up the crystal goblet to the light of the wall sconce to examine it more closely. "My, but I am impressed. And proud. So very proud."

Bellatrix squeals and claps her hands. "Oh, I'm so glad you like it. I was so nervous."

"Nervous?" Voldemort scoffs and flicks his eyes to her. "Brilliant little creature that you are."

Her eyes well then, hearing him talk to her like that, and she swipes at them as he tucks the deadly cursed goblet into the wooden box again. He picks up the tiny box from the table and passes it to Bellatrix, who smiles a little as she rips at the emerald wrapping. She pulls the paper away and makes a move for her wand to Vanish it, but Voldemort silently takes the paper from her, and then it's gone. She looks up and him and marvels,

"You're the most powerful wizard who's ever lived, I think."

"Do you suppose so?" Half his mouth quirks up. "One day, that will certainly be true, Bella. Open."

She holds the small velvet box in her hand and cracks open the lid, her eyes going wide when she sees the ring inside.

"Onyx," Bellatrix breathes, and Voldemort confirms lightly,

"To match the other pieces I've given you. The earrings and necklace. Now you've a full set."

"Master." Bellatrix pulls out the ring and hesitates. Which finger does she put it on? She finally settles on the fourth finger of her right hand, and as she slides it on, she ogles the beautiful gold filigree, the round glittering onyx. She just stares for a moment, and then her breath shakes in her nostrils as she whispers,

"I kept every letter. I didn't know what you'd be like when you came back. _If_ you came back. How was I to know you would be… so…"

She lowers her hand and raises her eyes to him, and he sets down the wooden box with her cursed goblet it in as he cups her jaw. He bends down and places a few kisses across her face - on her forehead, her cheekbones, and finally on her lips. She says softly against his mouth,

"How could I help but love you, My Lord?"

"Happy Christmas, Bellatrix," he says in reply, and she kisses him again before she answers,

"Happy Christmas."

* * *

_31 December 1968_

_London_

Bellatrix takes a few trembling breaths as she stands in the corridor outside Voldemort's flat. He came to Christmas dinner at Cygnus Black III's house, and they kissed after that. On the 27th, she came back here to dutifully study trolls, giants, and werewolves with him. More kissing, more touching, but little else happened. On the 29th, Voldemort came to the Black family house looking for Bellatrix, but she was in Diagon Alley with her mother and sisters and missed him. He called her through her Dark Mark and she came here, to the flat, where he kissed her against a wall until they were both breathless and hot-cheeked.

But tonight is different. Her godfather has promised her that if she wants sex from him tonight, he'll give it to her. She means to take him up on his offer. She's already cast powerful contraceptive charms upon herself, and as she raises her fist, she hopes she looks presentable for such an occasion as this. She's worn a black gown with buttons down the back, lace over silk, and she's allowed her hair to fall around her shoulders and down her back. She's wearing his onyx - the earrings, the necklace, and the ring. She's his. She belongs to her godfather now, to her lord and master.

Finally she musters the courage to knock, and she can hear the Wireless playing inside the flat. She frowns and knocks again, louder this time. After a moment, the volume of the Wireless decreases substantially, and the door slowly opens. Voldemort is standing before Bellatrix in a black tunic with dark flannel trousers. He's wearing a deep green dressing gown,, and he's barefoot. Suddenly she wonders… is he in pyjamas? Has he already gone into a state of undress for her?

"Hello." He brings a glass of red wine to his lips and sips, and then Bellatrix notices the little sway where he stands. He's drunk, she realises. Or, at least, he's a little tipsy. Why? Because it's New Year's Eve? He holds the door open, and Bellatrix feels silly all of a sudden in her formal gown. She clears her throat as she walks into the flat. He shuts the door as she says,

"Happy New Year, My Lord."

"Don't you mean, _happy birthday?_" He sips his wine again, and Bellatrix feels her eyes go wide.

"No," she breathes in disbelief, but Voldemort smirks a little and shrugs.

"All those years, I sent you birthday gifts, and you never wrote to ask when mine was. No. Wait. You did ask once, when you were perhaps ten or eleven. I think I refused to answer that letter, so. Anyway. Those years are long behind us now. Everything is different now. You're all grown up."

"You're drunk." Bellatrix feels her chest crumple. She didn't want her first time to be with a drunken buffoon of a man. But he sets down his glass of wine on the dining table and drags fingers through his thinning, greying hair as he whispers,

"Nearly lost my nerve; the wine returned it to me."

"Lost your nerve?" Bellatrix repeats, and Voldemort turns towards her slowly as he says,

"I'm your forty-two-year-old godfather. You are my seventeen-year-old goddaughter. And you have come here tonight in search of one thing. I know what you want. Believe me; I want it just as badly. But don't think for a moment that I don't have fifteen voices in my head screaming at me about what a terrible idea it is."

"Well, I could never…" Bellatrix chews her lip so hard she tastes blood, and she mumbles, "If you don't want it, then I'll leave you to celebrate your birthday in peace."

"Bella." Voldemort stalks over to her and slides his hands up around her jaws. He lowers his mouth to hers and kisses her, even though her lip is bleeding. She feels his lips and his fingers shaking and wonders how unsteady he was before he turned to wine. She hums up against him,

"All I want is _you_, My Lord. I am your servant. Let me serve you in bed as I -"

"I am the teacher and you are the acolyte," he says a bit sternly, pulling back and staring down at her. "Tonight your lesson is simple. You will learn quickly; I've no doubt."

Bellatrix gulps, and then she feels his hand go to her waist as he takes her right hand in his left one. He's swaying with her before she knows what's happening, but she falls into the rhythm and asks softly,

"Why are we dancing?"

"Because I should like to hold you… as a woman… for a moment before we begin unbuttoning gowns," Voldemort tells her matter-of-factly. She gazes up at him and nods, and he pulls her flush against him. She presses herself to his chest, listening to his heartbeat, and she squeezes at his hand. His fingers cinch at her waist a little, and she murmurs against his tunic,

"Is it natural to want a wizard this badly?"

"Some would say that nothing between you and I is natural, Bella, but it feels like the most natural thing in the world," he says. "The craving is mutual, I assure you."

She feels him pull her hand up to his mouth and kiss at her knuckles, and she shivers against him. Suddenly she feels a press against her abdomen, a growing push from his body, and she realises this is making him hard. He's getting worked up, dancing with her like this. His heartbeat seems to have accelerated, and his breath from above her sounds quick and shallow. She raises her eyes to stare up at him, and he licks his lips before saying,

"Bella… I… I have wanted this for longer than has been appropriate, so."

"What does that matter now?" Bellatrix demands, just a bit too sharply. "I am of age, and we are not related. What harm is there in any of this, Master?"

"Harm." He shuts his eyes and shakes his head. "No. There's no harm in any of this."

He's convincing himself, she knows, but she pulls her hand from his shoulder and drags her fingers along his jaw as she sways with him.

"What's first?" she asks. "All I know is there's kissing and then people disrobe and the wizard enters the witch. I don't know much else."

"The first thing that is going to happen," Voldemort says, his eyes still shut, "Is that you're going to get out of this restrictive gown and lie on my bed, where I mean to render you helpless."

"Helpless?" Bellatrix quirks up a nervous smile, and Voldemort opens his eyes as he says seriously,

"I'm going to make you cum until you feel like you've taken a Jelly-Legs Jinx. And then, when you are utterly relaxed and you've been sated, _then_ I will enter your body with mine, and we will… I will…"

His cheeks redden then, going hot beneath Bellatrix's fingers as she strokes at his skin. He smells of the wine he drank to steady himself for all of this. He sways just a little where he stands and makes a little noise. He finally steps back from her and reaches for her hand, sliding his fingers though hers as he makes his way towards the bedroom. Bellatrix follows him, struggling in her high heels to keep up with his long strides. At last they reach his bedroom, and Bellatrix realises she's never actually _been_ in here. She stares at the elegant mahogany bed with its deep blue velvet blanket, and she swallows hard. Voldemort goes behind her and starts unfastening small buttons down her back. His lips are beside her ear suddenly, and she shivers as his warm breath trembles against her skin.

"Tell me you want this," he says, and Bellatrix nods.

"I have wanted you since you came home," she says. "I want you tonight."

He makes a move to push her gown off of her front, and as she wriggles out of it and shoves it aside with a foot, he demands again,

"Tell me I'm not a fool. Tell me this is what you want."

Bellatrix stands there in black lace lingerie and stares at him for a moment.

"I want you, My Lord. I want _you_."

He snares her up in his arms again and kisses her so deeply that she squeals, and then she feels his fingers hook into the waistband of her knickers.

"Well, then," he pants against her mouth, breaking the kiss, "Let's begin."


	7. Chapter 7

_31 December 1968_

_London_

She's so beautiful that it actually aches in Voldemort's chest when he looks at her. How, he wonders, did she grow into this witch? Once he's slid her knickers down over her hips, he unhooks her bra and she shimmies out of it. Then she's naked before him, her breasts small and round and perfect. Her stomach is smooth and flat, almost concave from how thin she is. Her arms have just the slightest visible muscle; she's strong but so lean. Her hips are narrow and her backside round, and as Voldemort glides a palm over a buttock, his breath catches in his throat. He lets his fingers creep up her flat stomach and feels her shiver, and then he cups a breast and thumbs her nipple.

"Master," she whispers, and he knows his erection is grinding against the small of her back. Her head tips back a little, her curls collapsing against his chest, and he leans down to wrap her up in a kiss. She turns around to face him, and her arms snake up around his shoulders. He pulls her close and squeezes more firmly at her backside, his other palm pressing between her shoulder blades.

He wants her so very badly right now, but he knows he must show restraint. If he doesn't, this will all be over in two minutes, and she won't find satisfaction. He wants to make her cum. He wants her to cum _hard_ for him; he wants to see sweat glistening on her forehead before he ever enters her body. He wants this first time for her to be memorable not because of ripping and tearing and fear, but because it's _him_ and she's enjoyed herself.

"Come with me," he murmurs onto her lips, and he reaches up to pull one of her hands from behind his neck. He snares their fingers together and guides her over to his midnight blue bed, and she hesitates for just a moment before climbing up. She finally relaxes back against the pillows, though she looks ill at ease and very anxious. Her nipples are pert, at attention, pink and puckered. Her stomach is heaving with deep, quick breaths, and he realises she's going to hyperventilate if she isn't careful. Voldemort scowls and crawls up onto the bed, lying beside Bellatrix and putting his hand flat on her belly.

"It's just me," he whispers, but she stares at the ceiling as he slides his hand downward and lets his fingers touch gently at her clit. She isn't wet yet, but she'll get there, he knows. He'll get her there. He gets his body closer to hers and puts his lips beside her ear, and he says gently,

"Beautiful, beautiful witch that you are… how you enchant me."

"Master." Her voice cracks a little, and he kisses the skin below her ear as he feels her shudder. She's so anxious, he thinks. So very anxious. He needs to calm her mind and body. He circles the pad of his middle finger against her clit and moves his mouth to hers. She doesn't kiss him back at first; she's so reticent that she just lies there as his lips move on hers. But then she opens her mouth and grants him admission, and he hovers above her as he pushes his tongue in and scrapes the tip against the roof of her mouth. She moans softly, and he feels her thighs relax around his hand. She sighs and starts to kiss him back, her tongue tangling with his. She suckles his lip between her teeth, and Voldemort finally breaks the kiss to assure her again,

"It's just me."

"My Lord." She holds his face in her hands and then whispers desperately, "Please take off the dressing gown and your tunic, at least."

"Is that what you want, Bella?" He teases her with his voice and his finger, dipping the pad of his middle finger into the moisture of her entrance. She gasps a little, and her hands fly to the tie around Voldemort's waist. As she undoes the velvet knot, he laughs softly and kisses her again before muttering, "You want me naked, is that it?"

"Mmm-hmm." Bellatrix shoves at his dressing-gown, and Voldemort shucks it, letting it slide down behind him and pool beside the bed. Her hands go next to the hem of his dark tunic, and he helps her get it off of him. He pulls his hand from her quim for just a moment to wriggle out of the tunic, and then he knows she can see his chest with all its scarlet and white scars. He's just as damaged here as he is on his face, for Horcrux-making drains a wizard of his looks just as surely as it drains him of his soul.

She doesn't mind, apparently. She's panting now, her thumbs tracing rivulets of scar tissue as he crashes down against her mouth and feels her eagerly kiss him back. She's getting excited now, he knows, and sure enough, when he reaches to touch between her legs again, she's sopping wet. Her swollen, sodden entrance grants two fingers slick admission, and his thumb works circles on her clit as he tears his mouth from hers and attacks her neck. He uses his nose and chin to shove her curls away, and then he laps at the skin below her ear, nibbling a bit at the flesh there. Her back arches as she keens out, and then her fingers cinch on the blanket as she squirms on the bed. She likes this. She likes his fingers on her body. She likes his mouth on her neck. She likes the feel of him.

She smells like roses.

He breathes in the essence of her and drowns for a moment. Her skin is so soft beneath his lips, and she's so wet beneath his fingers, and suddenly he thinks he's going to cum in his pyjama trousers and ruin everything. He's so hard it hurts; his cock is at full mast and throbbing. His skin tingles and his hair stands on end as he kisses her neck and massages her quim. She writhes on the bed and whispers helplessly,

"I'm falling…"

_Legilimens._ He tries to peer into her mind, desperate to know what she's thinking right now, but he encounters a strong mental block, inky black velvet. He pulls out at once and hums against her neck,

"Oh, well done, Bella. Mmm. Well done."

"I love you," she gasps, her back arching again. Voldemort quickens his thumb on her clit, deepening his pressure as he corkscrews two fingers inside her. He kisses her until he knows he's leaving marks, and the thought of bruising up her neck makes his cock leak a little inside his trousers. He grunts and mumbles,

"It's too much."

She suddenly reaches for his head and wrenches at him, and he feels her yank his mouth onto hers in the instant before he tastes cinnamon in her kiss. He groans and feels like everything is tightening, like he's going to lose himself, and then he feels her finish.

She's clenching around his fingers, her walls contracting in uneven spasms as a fresh flush of arousal soaks his hand. Voldemort tries his best to stave off the wave of pleasure that's coiling in his lower belly and rushing through his veins, but all of a sudden his mouth goes slack against hers and everything explodes. He can't handle this. He can't handle the feel of her climaxing on his hand, the sound of her breathy moans on his mouth, the way she's trembling and the feel of her flesh gone hot.

He rips his mouth from hers and lets his face collapse beside hers, burrowing his nose into her curls and smelling rose. It's too much. It's entirely too much; he had no idea how _much_ this was going to be. He can feel his cum pumping in spurts, making a mess in his trousers, and he huffs a breath beside Bellatrix's ear as he whispers frantically,

"I'm… I apologise."

"For what?" she croaks, and he rolls over onto his back beside her. He squeezes his eyes shut and knows she can plainly see the wet spot on the front of his trousers. It's sticky; it's disgusting, he thinks. He's a mess. His hand is covered in Bellatrix's essence and he's soiled his pyjamas. He seethes through clenched teeth and mumbles,

"You are entirely in excess of what I can bear, Bella."

There's silence for a long moment, and then finally he feels her weight shift beside him, and she asks gently,

"Can we… try it again some other time?"

He smirks a little and opens his eyes, flicking them to Bellatrix. "Give me fifteen minutes."

Her cheeks darken. "Fifteen minutes?"

"Mmm. Just a little respite," he says, "and I'll be ready again. In the meantime, I mean to make you weak, Bella."

"I'm already weak," she says, her voice shaking. "I can't take any more right now."

"A little break for the both of us, then," Voldemort suggests. He reaches for his wand and silently casts _Tergeo _and _Scourgify_ on his hands and trousers. He sets his wand down and slides down his pyjama trousers. He kicks them away, his cock lying limp across his thigh. Bellatrix's fingers trail between them and dust over his sensitised flesh, and at first he nearly shoves her hand away. But then there's comfort in her touch, and he rolls closer as she whispers,

"Hold me. As a woman."

Suddenly, all he can think of is the crone, the witch who stared into his eyes and told him his future. All he can think of are the words the crone croaked out to him.

_The child you cradled a woman will become. And you shall hold her again, very differently this time. You shall hold her as a woman, not as a child. Her love for you will warp and shift, from giddy infatuation into deep, abiding loyalty._

She's a woman now, he thinks as he wraps one arm behind her back and pulls her flush against him. She's all grown up, and they are not related. It's as she's said. There is no harm in any of this. No ill could come of what's happening now. All it is is a teacher and an acolyte who have grown too fond of one another. Isn't it?

She kisses his chest as he breathes in rose from her curls, and he murmurs,

"I had meant to make you cum over and over again until you can't breathe."

"I like breathing," Bellatrix chuckles, "and, anyway, I am both sated and hungry for you. Consider yourself well-accomplished, Master."

He shuts his eyes and just holds her for a very long moment, until he feels a little twitch between his legs. His breath starts to quicken on instinct, and he feels his cheeks go hot. Bellatrix's fingers are still stroking, quite gently and affectionately, at his cock, and he realises he's started to go hard again for her. So soon, he wonders? But then he thinks of how badly he wants her, and it all makes sense. She's brought him back to life in a matter of moments, and Voldemort grunts a little. She'll be able to feel him swelling up, he knows. She'll be able to feel him firming beneath her touch. Sure enough, she kisses the hollow at the base of his throat and then touches her lips to his neck as her voice vibrates against his skin.

"Bella." He chokes out her name, and she wraps one leg around his hips somewhat unexpectedly. Voldemort is almost completely hard now, and he tips her head up to kiss her lips. He whispers onto her mouth, "Now. If you're ready."

"Now," she nods, and she rolls onto her back. Her leg, wrapped around Voldemort's hip, urges him to follow, and he moves to hover atop her. He reaches down and touches the tip of his cock between her legs as she bends her knees and touches her feet together behind his back. He stares down at her shining dark eyes, wide and searching. Her pearlescent lips are swollen from all the kissing. Her cheeks are pink. She wants this, he knows, but he needs to hear her say it.

"Tell me you want this."

"I want _you_, My Lord," Bellatrix assures him. "I've already cast contraceptive charms."

Contraception. How could he have nearly forgotten? He huffs a breath and nods, glad that she's got the situation under control for herself. He's proud of her. Just the same, he brushes his fingers along her lower abdomen and nonverbally, wandlessly casts long-lasting contraceptive charms to reinforce what she's done. She's only seventeen, after all. She could make all sorts of mistakes that they would both regret.

When he pushes into her body, her eyes squeeze shut and she grits her teeth. She lets out a tortured little noise, and Voldemort realises he's hurt her. Suddenly a hundred thoughts fly into his mind at once. He sees her hunched over a book about Necromancy, just after he'd come back from the Continent. He remembers dancing with her at a Christmas party, then her touch on his body for the first time. He thinks of her insisting that she's in love with him. He contemplates the deadly goblet she gave him at Christmas. She is marvelous, he thinks, and suddenly he finds himself petting her hair and kissing her scalding cheekbone as she whines in pain. He keeps his lips on her cheek and starts to slowly thrust his hips. In and out, in and out, in and out. With every push, he goes deeper, and she eventually arches up against him and whispers,

"Oh, it feels good now."

"Are you certain?" He's taken the virginity of a few witches, but this feels different. He actually cares this time. The other times were just animalistic rutting; this is _Bella._ He cycles his hips and asks again, "Do you actually enjoy this?"

"More." She pulls her face aside and stares up at him. "Harder.. Please."

"Mmph." He shoves his hips into her and locks them up, and she seethes as her fingers fly to his shoulder blades. Her nails dig into his flesh a little, not enough to hurt but enough to stimulate, and he pushes up onto his fisted hands as he hums down to her,

"You like it."

She laughs a little and nods, as though surprised by how much reassurance he's needing. "I like it."

He watches her breasts sway up and down as he thrusts within her. Her perky pink nipples move like they're brought along by ocean waves, and he's mesmerised by the sight. It makes him swell up inside her, seeing her breasts move like that. He reaches for her hips and holds fast, his fingers digging into the flesh of her backside as he groans and declares,

"Even with… I'm not… it's not going to last very long today no matter what I do."

"I'm not timing anything, My Lord," Bellatrix promises him, but he can't answer. Everything is going tight as he moves his hips faster and faster. She's snug and warm and wet around him, and he feels the sheath of her body hugging his cock with every thrust. He finally pushes into her and feels his balls drawn up against his body, feels his veins spike with heat, and he mumbles,

"Mine. My Bellatrix."

"All yours." Her hands are on his slightly scruffy cheeks then, and he cums before he can put a stop to it. He opens his eyes and stares at Bellatrix as he fills her up with his seed, as the burst of pleasure rockets through his body. He slows his hips into erratic jerks and then finally stops entirely. They lock eyes and just gaze at one another, panting softly as he starts to soften. This time around, his cock feels entirely spent, and as he slides from her, a river of cum follows him and slithers down her thigh. She doesn't seem to mind. He collapses onto the bed beside her and reaches for his wand to clean them up; there's a little blood on the blanket, and they're both covered in cum and sweat and Bellatrix's slick arousal. He siphons and Scours and then sets his wand back down, slithering under the blankets and encouraging Bellatrix to join him.

When she curls up against him, tossing a leg across his thighs and an arm over his chest, he lets out a contented little noise and shuts his eyes. She feels so very _right_ here in his arms - this grown woman he's meant to hold. Loyal. She is so loyal, he thinks. He reaches for her left arm and drags his thumb over her Dark Mark. She hisses and kisses his chest as she says softly,

"All yours."

He likes to hear her declare that, and now he knows why. She's his goddaughter, his acolyte, his servant. His lover. She's all his, isn't she? Doesn't she belong to him?

"Bella." He rubs between her shoulder blades and suggests, "Let's lie here until we fall asleep."

"But it's New Year's Eve, My Lord," Bellatrix reminds him, "and it's your birthday. We ought to stay up until midnight. And my parents -"

"Your parents know exactly where you are," Voldemort sighs, "and I have no desire to count down a new year or celebrate my ageing. I wish to lie here with you and fall asleep."

She snuggles closer against him and brushes her fingertips around his scarred shoulder. Her voice is a low drone in the bedroom then as she declares,

"I can think of no better way to spend my time, My Lord, than to be held by you."

_The child you cradled a woman will become. And you shall hold her again, very differently this time. You shall hold her as a woman, not as a child. Her love for you will warp and shift, from giddy infatuation into deep, abiding loyalty._

"Master?" she asks as Voldemort contemplates what he's been told. He kisses her forehead by way of reply. She raises her gaze to him and says, "I adore you. So very much."

His eyes burn in the way that only she incites, and he nods. In a few days, she'll be gone for months, he realises. He pinches his lips and nods again. His throat feels tight as he whispers,

"Happy New Year, Bellatrix."

"Happy birthday, Master," she replies. She tucks her face back against his chest, and after what feels like an eternity of counting their breaths, Voldemort drifts off to sleep with her in his arms.


End file.
